


Come With Knives

by wednesday



Category: Supernatural
Genre: F/F, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-03
Updated: 2016-08-03
Packaged: 2018-07-29 02:55:15
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 25
Words: 46,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7667527
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wednesday/pseuds/wednesday
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A place for most of my old Supernatural fic, mostly written during S5 and S6.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1. Lines, Sam/Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This is how they don't talk at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'silence'

 

The only thing he can hear is his own heartbeat, going a bit slower with every beat. It’s hard to regain his breath, and be silent at the same time, but he feels as if it would be some kind of sin to disturb the sudden absence of sound. Everything seems kind of hazy right now; he is almost dizzy from the fight, lightheaded.  
  
They are in a field in the middle of nowhere. The most noteworthy decoration is the row of vampire bodies that were not bodies just minutes ago. Sam feels lucky yet again, because there were too many, more than two people could kill without casualties. It’s stupid and they should stop, research more and not get into situations like these. There are only so many times you can be lucky. He does feel lucky- just minutes ago he was sure he was going to die, his only concern to not let Dean go first.  
  
He can breathe again, finally, but it is still way quieter than it should be. The wildlife has been scared away and Dean, Dean hasn’t said a word yet. Dean, he is just a couple of feet away from him, and Sam’s relieved, because this way he can hear him breathe almost imperceptibly and thus knows he’s not injured or anything. That’s a good thing.  
  
Sam turns to look at him and oh, wow, he has blood splatter on his face, a red line from the bridge of his nose all the way down his cheek. It is red the way the red beer bottle caps and red pens and red liquorice and knifes are. Sam shakes his head a little, tries to get the dizziness to retreat.  
  
Dean’s not looking at him, still looking at the decapitated bodies with an expression that belies his unhappiness with killing human shaped things. There really is no reason to say anything, and Sam’s head is absolutely empty except for a thin layer of fog, so he just reaches with his hand and runs his fingers along the red line on his brother’s face to wipe it away. What he actually manages is to make the line wider, he should have known that, but that’s not what’s important anymore. Dean snapped out of whatever headspace he was lost in the moment Sam’s fingers touched his skin and now he’s looking at him.  
  
Yeah, maybe it was a very weird thing to do, Sam’s not absolutely sure; Dean’s looking at him with half surprise and half disbelief written across his face. And Sam, Sam freezes. His fingertips are red and resting against Dean’s jaw unmoving. Everything is quiet and absolutely still.  
  
He just confused what is and isn’t done.  
  
The smudged red line across an oh so familiar pale face mocks him and reminds him of things he’d rather forget and things he really rather wouldn’t and he doesn’t really know why, but he tries to wipe it away again with his thumb.  
  
Dean doesn’t slap his hand away, doesn’t call him a girl, he doesn’t do anything at all to stop him just stares at him. Dean’s skin is kind of softer than it looks. This touching, whatever it is, has lasted so long that it was assailed by awkward forever ago.  
  
It looks as if Dean doesn’t want to disturb the silence either, though. Or maybe, Sam’s mind provides, he’s as terrified as Sam is, afraid to move too fast, make too much noise and break this moment. Terrified of what comes if there’s a 'no' and of what comes if there’s a 'yes'.  
  
Sam has to search through his head to find the question to which those could be answers and when he does, he wants to say ‘ _oh_ ’, but keeps quiet. It’s-, there should be words now, big complicated words, swearing at least and lifetime of ‘hell no’s, Sam thinks as he watches his own hand move across freckles and blood.  
  
He looks back up into Dean’s eyes. Dean looks like he’s confused and he opens his mouth to say something, so Sam’s completely justified, when he steps forward, so much closer than at arms length now, and presses his other hand to Dean’s mouth, silences him. The frown on the red smudged face deepens and yes, Sam can see that he’s not the only one scared here. Dean doesn’t try to talk again as Sam moves his hand from his mouth to neck slowly. The fog is mostly gone now, so he’s absolutely aware of how this is wrong and how in over his head he is.  
  
Dean’s hands are still at his sides, palms drawn into fists, knuckles turning white.  
  
Sam thinks this is it, this is how he ruins everything, because he can’t really stop now, even if he could, there’s no way he could play this down, pretend it was anything but what it is. So he’d rather ruin his life in silence, with no distractions.  
  
He leans across the half step still between them, he doesn’t really dare step closer now, because then he will also have to step back further later. The startled breath against his face makes him want to laugh for some reason, but then he’s there, his lips pressed against Dean’s and it’s perfect, his eyes are closed now and there’s no sound so all he does, all he can do is feel. He moves his lips, kisses his own brother and hell, yes, he is fucked up, but he doesn’t really want this moment to ever end. And then he feels a warm hand on his hip. Dean does dare to come that half a step closer, apparently.  
  
He kisses back and slides his hand up under Sam’s shirt and Sam thinks this is worth all the terrifying moments in the world. They kiss for what seems like forever and then Dean presses closer and pushes Sam’s shirt up over his head, pushes him back until he’s pressed against the nearest tree, trapped there by Dean. It’s possible he has no real idea what he’s gotten into, but that’s nothing new.  
  
Sam gasps, when he feels Dean’s lips on his neck, hands running up and down his sides and suddenly one of those hands runs higher up, lands on his mouth, keeping _him_ silent now. He pushes Dean’s shirt up too and the hand over his mouth presses down stronger for a moment, like a warning, like a plea, before Dean removes it to get out of unnecessary clothing.  
  
Then it’s skin against skin and Sam’s out of breath again, trying to make no sound, as he pushes his hands down his brother’s pants. Dean shudders a breath against his neck when Sam succeeds, but that’s it, no more noise, and after a few moments he returns the favor and oh, yeah, that’s nothing at all like his own hand.  
  
Sam bites his lip to stop the moan and then they’re kissing again, trying to keep some kind of rhythm for each other and not particularly succeeding, but that somehow gets ignored in the rush to not let go of each other. Sam feels the tree bark cut into his skin as Dean tries to get closer than it’s possible to be, but it’s good and he doesn’t really care, he has to concentrate now to keep silent, he thinks he can taste blood where he’s biting on his own lip again.  
  
He takes his brother’s free hand from where it’s digging in his waist and pulls it up to his face, his mouth. Dean presses down hard, so hard he’ll probably leave a bruise on his face and Sam’s gone, almost passing out from missing air and from the pleasure filled with sharp corners of ‘ _no_ ’ and ‘ _not allowed_ ’.  
  
When he stops shaking Dean’s kissing him again and rocking his hips against Sam somewhat desperately, so Sam resumes stroking him, puts his other hand in Dean’s hair, keeps their lips crushed together and swallows whatever sound Dean is about to make as he comes a minute later.  
  
Dean clings to him even tighter afterwards, almost as if they can just fold closer together, be _this_ and everything else will be fine.  
  
As they slide down to the ground, tree bark scratching Sam’s already raw back, his hands around his brother, he realizes they have completely redefined their whole relationship, what constitutes Sam’s entire world for a long time now, without a single word.


	2. 2. The Flood, Sam/Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's night gets worse, then it gets better.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'washing/cleaning'

 

Sam is not happy right now. Dean’s fucked off to get drunk somewhere and he’s alone in their hotel room when Castiel angel-ports over. The reason he’s particularly unhappy is mostly the state of the angel- Cas smells like a brewery, which isn’t that unusual lately, but this time he’s also got mud up to his knees, looks like he’s wallowed around with all the dust bunnies in the state and… is that sawdust clinging to his sleeve? At least Sam’s pretty sure the drying blood splashed down his chest is not his own.

“Dude, do not leave all that mess near my stuff!”

Sam really doesn’t want to ask, if he did, he’d probably like the answer even less than he likes the state Cas is in.

“Yes, Sam,” Cas promises in his serious voice. He doesn’t sound very drunk, but that might be just wishful thinking on Sam’s part. He closes his laptop and stashes away in his bag just in case. Cas is just standing in the middle of the room, not moving and looking like he hasn’t had a shower in forever.

There’s a thought.

“Why don’t you have a shower? I’ll find you some clean clothes; some ofDean’s might fit you.”

“Yes, Sam,” he says again and keeps staring at him in that special disconcerting way of his. What he doesn’t do is move in the direction of the bathroom or strip his ruined clothes off or indeed do anything that would indicate he actually understood Sam. He sighs, this is just typical; and Dean’s fault.

“Do you know how to take a shower?” Sam asks and continues without waiting for an answer, since Cas looks confused now, which is also the look that has the potential to dissolve into a debate about the meaning of the universe. “Never mind, just get inside the bathroom and strip.”

Sam’s looking through Dean’s bag for something the angel could wear; he doesn’t look up, just hopes Cas is actually doing what he’s told. Right nowSam’s very annoyed with everything.

When he finds a shirt and pants that might fit, he finds Cas in the bathroom; granted, he’s gotten rid of the trench and suit that are both crumpled on the floor now, but that’s where Sam’s luck ends, because Cas is sadly regarding his own tie. Like it’s gravely insulted him or something. Somehow, it’s very believable he’s drunk.

Sam deposits the clothes on the counter and sighs again; this is not something he should be doing. He reaches for Castiel’s tie, unknots it and drops it to the ground while Cas watches him curiously. The shirt buttons go next and as close as he’s standing he can tell there’s not much alcohol in Cas’ breath, but there _are_ real actual spider webs in his hair. _Don’t ask, don’t ask_ , he repeats to himself. _It’s bad enough the way it is_.

The shirt goes and Sam falters.

“Now take off your shoes, then the rest of your clothes. Then it’s shower time.”

He turns away to start the water in the stall, makes sure it’s warm but not scalding. When he turns back Cas is successful and also naked. Okay, this has turned from annoying to awkward faster than he can blink. Sam tries to ignore the awkward, he has practice.

“So now you just get under the water and get clean,” he says in an expectant tone of voice, because _please, please, be able to follow this instr_ \--

Yeah, that’s a disaster waiting to happen from the moment Cas steps into the stall, turns his face up to the water and promptly sputters and almost drowns.

“Dude, don’t inhale the water!” Cas can apparently follow that, but he’s looking at Sam accusingly and somewhat suspiciously now.

This time he suppresses the sigh and starts unbuttoning his own shirt. Deanhad better not come back now. This is possibly more embarrassing than that time in Louisiana with the swamp monster and electric fence. He manages not to think of anything at all while he undresses.

Cas steps back and makes place for him in the shower, when Sam joins him. The stall’s not too big so they end up breathing each others air just the same, but Sam just suppresses and ignores every aspect of this. He lathers up a washcloth, presses it into Cas’ hand and reaches past him for the shampoo.

When Cas starts washing his own skin pretty much on top of Sam, he can still ignore it. His amazing skills of obliviousness completely abandon him when he starts washing Cas’ hair and he releases a very happy and surprised moan and leans his head back into Sam’s hands. Sam stills, because, yeah, he’s almost pressed up against another guy in the shower, hands in his hair. He can feel Cas’ body heat.

The angel opens his eyes and looks at him questioningly, apparently not content with the pause that Sam’s using to freak out. Only he isn’t. He’s a lot more turned on than freaked out. It confuses him, because he’s never considered Cas like that, honest. Of course the confusion and arousal mix well together, as witnessed by the fact Sam eventually resumes running his hands through Cas’ hair.

Cas moans again, closes his eyes, then opens them and looks at Sam, who in turn watches as the water washes Cas’ mud streaked skin clean. Then he too looks back up and they stare at each other wordlessly, Sam’s hands still in Cas’ hair.

It takes another minute or so, before Sam clears his throat and says “Can I--” and Cas answers instantly “Yes, Sam,” and then Sam is kissing an angel in a shower stall.

He tries to keep it at that, but that is blown to hell the moment Cas figures out how to use his tongue, licks Sam’s lip and presses inside his mouth. Their tongues tangle and Sam presses Castiel against the wall, feels his hands settle on his waist and after another minute of trying to find a reason to stop kissing the angel and failing miserably, those hands pull him closer, flush against Cas’ chest.

Sam leans his forehead on Cas’ and groans at the feeling of all that skin touching, then groans louder as Cas rocks their hips together and gasps, then kisses him more frantically than before. The water running down Sam’s back and in between them tingles and there’s too much sensation at the same time when Cas bites his lip and rocks their dicks together and pulls at his hair exactly right.

Sam pulls back, ignores Cas’ unhappy sound and looks at him- he looks very sober, very willing and very close to pushing Sam around to get back to the fun part. God, he wants something too, but he doesn’t really know what beyond just Cas, so Sam improvises and slides down to his knees. Cas doesn’t look like he understands up until Sam takes him in his mouth; then his hands clench into his hair almost painfully and Sam swears he hears the wall tile crack as Cas throws his head back and releases a long low moan.

This isn’t something he does, except apparently now it is, because Sam has someone’s dick in his mouth and damn, he likes it, likes everything about this. Up until the moment Cas’ hips jerk and he pushes in more than Sam can take, so he has to hold Cas’ hips, press them against the wall to avoid any accidental biting. He tries to remember how this is supposed to feel, tries to use those memories to get the least awkward angle, but it doesn’t seem to be important as Cas is making these perfect low noises all the time now and the grip on his hair is right on the edge of uncomfortable and there is water streaming down his skin everywhere.

He tries to moan himself as he feels one of Cas’ hands on his jaw and apparently that’s all it takes, as Cas stills, shudders with an absolutely stunned animal sound and Sam is swallowing, tasting him and oh, god, suddenly he’s right there, gone himself without any touching at all, trying to hold on to Cas’ hips, not fall and not choke at the same time.

When he recovers, he’s still on his knees, his forehead resting against Cas’ hip and there’s a hand brushing through his hair. He’s very sure this was the most unexpected orgasm he’s ever had. The water’s still running down his back and he kind of feels very good where he is, but after a few more moments he kisses whatever skin is closest to him and gets up on his feet.

Cas looks at him as if he’s never seen him before and then pulls him in for more kissing. They stay in the shower until the water starts running cold, then get out, and when it turns out Sam has to demonstrate the use of a towel, he laughs loudly and hugs Castiel. Somehow the uncomfortable awkward feeling does not come back and they part with another kiss before Castiel flies off to wherever he goes and Sam collapses on his bed and falls asleep.

The next time he sees Castiel, happens a couple of days later and he has the old clothes back, all clean and relatively undamaged. Sam tries not to wonder about that too much. He suppresses and ignores right up until Dean pushes a hand through his own hair and makes a face.

“I need to take a shower.” Sam chokes on his pancakes and when he’s just about able to breathe again, Cas declares in a solemn voice that he enjoys showers very much. The waitresses look at Sam funny and Dean threatens to take him to the hospital when he can’t stop laughing.


	3. 3. Through The Never, Jo/Meg

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At first, Jo wishes she had died in the explosion. She's not very clear, if that changes later on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'temperature play'

 

It’s all pain and then she knows it will be more of that before it’s over, so Jo just closes her eyes for a moment, takes a breath to get ready. She will just rest a bit, wait for the dogs. This is what she can do to help, not the big fight, but she will take this over nothing.Jo just closes her eyes to rest.

It’s all pain again, like she’s being dragged through all the fires of hell and back, all _scorching-burning-hurting_. Then it stops, the way she expected. Only she expected to not be aware when it did.

After a few minutes she feels it didn’t stop at all, she still feels eviscerated and now her hand is on fire too. This is bad, something went wrong.

“Wakey, wakey, little girl!” a cheerful voice quite near her exclaims. Jo struggles to open her eyes, when she does, there’s a dark haired woman sitting cross-legged next to her. Whom, yes, she remembers now.

“Meg.”

“You remember me!” the demon Meg seems too cheerful, it makes Jo uneasy. But then, she’s still alive and lying on a cold table somewhere she’s never been before in the company of a demon. It’s pretty fucking obvious she would be uneasy. “Oh, baby, we had some fun back in the day, didn’t we?”

Jo can’t really think clearly, she’s covered by a blanket, but very sure there are still hellhound wounds littering her body judging by the lingering ache and strange numbness, probably from shock. How is she still alive?

“’Ere are we?”

The demon doesn’t get angry at her for questioning, surprisingly. She seems happy, which probably means Jo will be very unhappy very soon.

“Somewhere no one will ever find us. Had to keep you hidden from your friends, lest they come to rescue you too soon.” Oh, so this is how it’s going to go. She’s not waiting for the dogs anymore, but she’s still bait, always bait. She’d be angry, but there’s a weakness making both her body and mind lax.

“’M bait, aren’t I?”

“Oh, smart girl, yes! It wasn’t easy to get you out of there, I’ll tell you; Even harder to keep you alive, since my dogs did such a fine job on you. I would have healed you, but-” she gestures at herself with her hand, “demon here, not very good with healing people.” She smiles a teeth filled, predatory smile that looks wrong on the lovely face she’s stolen.

“Don’t worry, baby, my father will make you all better when he comes back.”

Despite all the weakness and sluggishness Jo’s mind provides who that is. She tries to struggle, get up, but of course she can’t, her attempts are pitiable. She almost screams upon moving, there’s also a new burning agony in her left arm along with the previous, muted injuries. Deep breaths and a couple of long moments of silence later she finally registers what it is- Meg is holding her hand. It feels like liquid fire flowing into her from the contact. Jo grits her teeth and tries to draw back slowly.

“Oh, no, no, no, sweetheart, that’s how you’re still alive, you can’t let go.” Meg’s eyes roam over her, as Jo closes her eyes and lets the tears flow down her temples. It burns more than anything she’s ever felt. The fading hellhound scratches are nothing compared to it. It’s like she’s made of ice, cold all over, and someone has put a blowtorch to her.

Suddenly there’s a hot mouth like another lick of flame on her temple, tasting her tears. She’d flinch away if she could, but that is not the case. She cries harder instead, because it actually feels good, makes the fire in her hand weaker.

“Don’t cry, baby, there’s nothing to cry about. Yet.” Meg sounds unhappy now. Jo just lies there and hopes that the fire will kill her, that the demon magic won’t be enough to keep her alive. Anything.

“It hurts that much, doesn’t it?” she can almost hear the frown in the demon’s voice now, maybe she’ll be lucky and Meg will get angry and finish the job herself. “We can’t have that now, can we? That’s ok, I’ll kiss it better, sweetheart.”

 Jo makes a sound between a laugh and a sob and there are lips on her face again, on her cheek at first, then on her jaw and finally Meg covers her lips with her borrowed ones. They leave a trail of fire on Jo’s skin, burning as if Meg herself is a fire consuming the body from the inside.

The lips pressing against hers move slowly, trying to coax her to respond, but of course she doesn’t, even if she silently revels in the new burn that makes the pain seem washed out.

Meg kisses her slowly, as if she’s not sure how, which is laughable, and trails her free hand down the side of her neck, over her collarbone and stops on the side of her breast, burning her even through the layers of clothes. It’s all gentle, like Meg is being careful, tender and it makes Jo so angry, this is not how this should go, how it will go. She bites the demon on her bottom lip, kisses back as hard as she can manage, forces her tongue in Meg’s mouth. Meg makes a muffled happy noise against her and gives as good as she gets, moves around to straddle Jo’s waist- a fiery weight on her middle; she doesn’t let go of her hand. As she squeezes her breast, Jo clutches at her thigh, digs her nails in, which just makes Meg all the more enthusiastic.

The hand on her chest feels so hot like it’s gone through the layers of cloth and is now persistently trying to disintegrate her skin. When Jo draws a breath to scream, Meg moves it away, trails lower and the heat becomes a pleasant sensation again after a few desperate gasps of air. Jo opens her eyes and looks up at the woman, the demon atop of her smiling down at her, looking more gleeful and excited than she should under any circumstances.

“Maybe he’ll let me keep you, after he’s done with you,” Meg declares as if it’s a prize, something Jo could want. Jo fists her free hand in Meg’s hair and pulls her closer again, bites the side of her neck so strongly she draws blood, then kisses her again to silence her mirthful laugh.

Meg slides her hand around her slowly healing injuries until she reaches Jo’s thigh; She has to scoot lower to be able to reach better. Jo only feels the grudgingly welcome heat low on her belly, but she thinks the demon’s opening her jeans one handed.

As skin touches skin, Jo feels a delightful wave of heat pass all over her, leans up into Meg and tries to relish in as much of it as possible.

“Slow down, baby,” Meg says sounding almost breathless, “I’ll get you there, you just lie there and take it.” She pushes Jo back down, puts more of her own weight on her and slides her hand back between Jo’s legs, slowly, so slowly it feels like all her nerves are being fried one after another and Jo feels like screaming again, but then there’s a tongue in her mouth, distracting her just enough.

The flames that are Meg’s fingers stop their steady way further down right before her clit, circle around it and then three of them push the scorching heat inside her and Jo does scream. It’s muffled against a demon, but then Meg moves down, her teeth are digging into Jo’s neck and she pushes back at her, as Jo arches almost all the way off the table.

Meg moves her fingers in and out until Jo can no longer distinguish between pain and pleasure, her voice is so hoarse she can’t scream any more, just quietly sob. When she feels like there’s only hot ash left of her, the demon presses her thumb down on the last remaining untouched nerves she has left; the last thing Jo hears before the darkness overcomes her again is a laugh so breathless it sounds like something else entirely.


	4. 4. A Secret Between Two, Ellen/Lenore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lenore tries to pass for what she isn't. Everyone has secrets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'bloodplay'

 

Maybe becoming a hunter wasn’t the smartest thing ever for a vampire to do, but Lenore is once again bored and wants some purpose in her very long existence. Especially now, when it seems the world really needs to be rid of some demons and such; she’s noticed the way everything seems to be heading towards an ending, fast.

Hunting down some bad guys might help delay the end, it might repay theWinchester boy for saving her or maybe just gather her a few points for when the judgment comes, though she holds no great hope for that last one.

Thus, after leaving her undead kindred on their own, she finds other hunters, concocts some extremely fake story of how she came to this profession and starts hunting as best as she can. Pretending to be human isn’t that hard anymore, since she no longer uses them for food.

Things become decidedly more interesting when she meets Ellen Harvelle. The lady doesn’t think her incapable of the job just because of her gender for obvious reasons. She also needs someone to work together with, so Lenore lands herself a semi-permanent hunting companion. She secretly admires Ellen for managing to learn all the things she knows and doing all the things she’s done in a single mortal lifetime.

They work quite well together for a month or two and Lenore kind of wants things to go on like this forever, until whatever is coming happens. When she has to disappear shortly every now and then to kill a cow or two, Ellen never notices anything.

Of course, things don’t ever work like planned. For the longest time she’s happy they don’t come across other vampires, but then her luck runs out. There are two of them in town, one that definitely knows her. So Lenore sneaks out the first night and goes to take care of it before Marty has a chance to spill her secret.

The first, younger one goes down easy, she manages to surprise him and that costs him his head.almost instantly. But Marty is twice her size and there’s a struggle that ends when Lenore drinks him dry and finally decapitates him. It’s taken more time and effort than she expected and she’s a bloody mess.

When she tries to sneak back into her hotel room, still hidden by the moonless night, Ellen’s there, sitting in a chair and waiting for her. Lenore stops, then takes a step back; she’s well aware how much blood she has on her clothes and face right now. And Ellen’s a damn good hunter.

“I can explain,” is the first thing she says, not really sure how she could in a way that wouldn’t end with her head separate from her body. Ellen gets up, takes three steps closer to her, stops just outside of reach and silently raises her eyebrow, hands crossed over her chest. Lenore clenches her hands, she wants to wipe her face, but knows it won’t help anything.

“I took care of the vampires,” seems like a good opening. Ellen still looks unimpressed and there’s a very sharp looking knife in her hand. The smart thing would probably be to leave, but she _likes_ Ellen, damn it.

“I can see that,” Ellen replies in a tone way too sarcastic. “Anything else you’d like to share?”

“Not really, if that’s fine with you?” It comes out as a question. No one younger than her should be able to make her this nervous, it’s not fair. Ellendoesn’t say anything for the longest time, her eyes on Lenore’s blood covered mouth. She actually feels like fidgeting and she _never_ does that, so this has to end now, one way or the other. “Should I leave now?” Because it’s quite clear her secret’s not been a secret for the whole duration of this conversation. The question is, how will they go about this now.

There’s a knife pressed to her neck between this moment and the next one. Her chilled blood travels down her neck in sluggish drops from where the knife presses in too much; cold metal that feels like it's familiar even though she has never let anyone get this close before of her own free will.

She doesn’t move still, she knows she could escape from this, knows that death isn’t a certainty yet, but within her mind she’s wondering if she’d _allow_ it to come. This is Ellen after all. Maybe this is the way she should go?

Ellen steps closer, right into her space, knife still held by a sure hand, and locks their eyes again. She leans closer yet, as if to whisper, but her lips brush ever so lightly against Lenore’s cheek on the way.

“ _I’m good friends with Sam Winchester, Lenore_ ,” is the secret, a quiet breath against her ear and neck that makes her shiver. That’s-, Lenore tries to think through the sudden rush and the tingle that travels down the back of her neck, that means Ellen knew all along. She’s in her space, breathing the scent of blood and her skin still, waiting for something.

There’s something Lenore should deduce from this, but she’s overwhelmed by the warmth coming off the woman in front of her. The knife moves away from her neck, so she leans her forehead on Ellen’s shoulder and sighs in relief.

When she tries to lean back, Ellen keeps her in place with a hand on the back of her head, there’s a sound, a knife clattering on the floor, and then there’s another hand on her back. She wants to ask but then there are soft, warm lips on her cold skin, Ellen is leaving kisses on her neck and it’s all suddenly pretty simple and clear.

She places her hands on Ellen’s shoulder blades, turns her head and presses their lips together for just moments, then draws back, because she’s still covered in someone else’s blood, but Ellen follows her, kisses her again, then drags her tongue from her jaw to the corner of her mouth leaving a clean wet line.

Oh, yes, this is what she wants, someone who doesn’t mind at all, she goes for a kiss, but Ellen tilts her head down. The next drag of warm tongue cleans the dark, thick beads off her neck, catches on the cut inflicted by Ellen herself just minutes ago, reminds of the sting of sharp metal on flesh.

It’s somewhat similar to being hit on the head, she thinks, the sudden rush of lust so overwhelming her knees go weak and then nothing matters much anymore, she has to have more. The next kiss is openmouthed, tongues sliding together and she can taste her own blood in it.

Ellen pushes her in the direction of the bed and they pull at each others clothes and Ellen licks all the blood off her face with determination. It’s dizzying and so wonderful she could stay in this moment forever, inside the feeling of being wanted like this, being wanted along with what she is.

Getting out of all the clothing slows everything for a minute, but then Lenoreputs her hand on Ellen’s bare thigh and they’re back to all systems go again, sliding, falling onto the sheets. Running her hands all over Ellen’s body feels like touching fire; she wonders how her coldness feels to the other woman, but it’s not something she’ll ever know.

Ellen’s kissing her neck again, sucking bruises into it and she can feel a hint of teeth against the cut, it startles a moan from her and makes her arch her neck more for better access, press back at the sharpness. She trails her fingers overEllen’s skin, feels the thrum of warmth beneath it and follows that. Follows it down lower and lower, until she makes Ellen gasp loudly and then moan too. She moves her hand between her legs, repeats every move that evokes a shudder or a moan, rolls them over so that she’s atop her.

Lenore licks her skin, stops herself from biting down too hard on the collarbone, leaves kisses on every new inch of skin in her way until she reaches her breasts, drags her cheek down the side of the left one and then sucks the nipple into her mouth. It makes Ellen arch up, the line her body makes the most beautiful sight Lenore’s ever seen.

When she gets carried away by the taste of the skin, the way her own name sounds when whispered by someone so overcome with passion, she does bite down just a little too hard on the soft skin; Ellen stills and Lenore can feel her muscles tense and relax, her whole body shudder against her. It’s intoxicating causing that and she wants to feel it all, every twitch and vibration. She caresses her all over, as Ellen trembles, finally her hands settle on her waist.

The red smudges on her face from where she touched Lenore look like invitations, each one of them a sign that she’s been there, that this belongs to her now.   
  
   Ellen’s lashes move, her eyes open and she pulls her closer, but not for a kiss- for another whispered secret, silky and burning against her skin, “ _I want you to paint yourself with my blood instead_.”

There is no world in which she could deny that wish. As her teeth, her human ones, break the skin with purpose, she wishes the world had more time left.


	5. 5. A Song To Forget, Jo/Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A meeting of questionable significance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'suspension'

On his way out of his own house, in the garage Crowley finds a nice surprise. At least it’s some consolation for having to leave this place, possibly forever.

There’s a girl fighting one of his guards, quite probably the last one left. The Winchesters are probably too overwhelmed to come looking for him in his fortress, so he stops to watch. Admittedly the guard is disappointingly incompetent, but the girl is good, she moves with practiced, easy moves despite the dress he would have thought absolutely incompatible with fighting. There’s something there though, he can’t reach it, but it seems almost like a sliver of indecision, no, that’s not right, of uncertainty clings to her. It’s beautiful in a way, so breakable, but Crowley thinks this is because she’s young.

He is quite surprised thus, when the girl manages to overpower the demon and send it on its way. She looks surprised for a moment herself, just a flash of desperate relief on her face.

Crowley claps slowly and steps out of the shadows towards her.

“Lovely. Your technique needs more work, mind you, but it was very lovely.”

Her blond strands flash in the dim light when she turns to him with a knife in hand in what’s probably supposed to be a threatening stance. Crowleydoesn’t react and she pauses, gradually acquiring a guardedly disapproving expression.

“What’s wrong with my technique?”

“You shouldn’t fight when you think you can’t win.”

“I did win, demon.” There is one part question in the address under all the distaste- as if she doesn’t know if he really is what he is. She has to know, so it must be that she _hopes_ he isn’t. That would be almost sweet, if Crowley cared any for sweet. He doesn’t, as it is.

“Luck isn’t something you should rely on, love.” He doesn’t disagree, thus acquiescing and her stance becomes even more like a cat ready to jump. A bit too twitchy for a cat though.

“That was not luck,” she frowns, “I’m just good like that.”

She looks a little more comfortable and is stealthily, barely noticeably moving in position to strike him. Crowley waves his hand and the girl is flying across the room, hitting the concrete wall.

“Oh, yes, you’re good love, but not nearly that good,” he smirks as he steps closer to her. Her hands are spread; he’s holding her against the wall with invisible bonds so that her feet don’t touch the floor, almost but not quite. She would make a good crucifixion picture if not for the fancy dress.

Her eyes are on the knife that’s down on the ground right by his feet. He picks it up and she looks angry somehow, but then just kind of scared when he turns his attention to her.

“Dean and Sam will tear you to pieces,” she announces with an admirable conviction. Her head is turned to the side, still watching the knife in his hand as if it would help her, if she had it. Crowley steps even closer, his breath on the side of her face when he leans in to whisper.

“Is that so… love?” he tries to be even more suggestive than usual, and it apparently works- she turns her head back so fast it looks painful and now, now her stare is properly terrified. He can see her fists clenching and unclenching where they are trapped to the wall. With the way he’s holding her up, their faces are the same level.

Crowley runs his free hand from her wrist to shoulder and she stays silent, the look on her face almost pleading, it’s just as impossible as doubting he’s a demon. She does whimper and close her eyes when he drags her own knife starting from her knee up her thigh, under her dress. This is more fun than he could have expected from a tactical retreat. Playing with someone like this thrills him- he spends way too much time dealing with the kind of people that would probably go down just the same, to have enough time for this. He tightens the bonds holding her up, makes sure she can feel it.

Her dress is all bunched up now and his palm on her hip, the handle of the knife between them. He wonders when she’ll notice her legs aren’t bound.

“Please, stop,” she whispers and that is yet again unexpected, Crowley would have bet good money that nothing done to her could make this one beg. But then, his first thought of things to do would have been good old fashioned torture too.

He leans closer still, inhales the scent of her hair.

“What’s your name, love?” makes her shiver a little, as the words catch against her neck. Crowley’s excited now, because he doesn’t know if she’ll answer or no, it’s like lottery, a game of quid pro quo where no one wants to be the first to give.

“Jo.” She does answer, does so as quietly as he asked, no need to be louder as close as they are.

Crowley releases her hip, trails both his palms all along her hands from where he can feel the pulse in her wrists to shoulder this time, his face touching her hair. The shuddering breaths he can sense against his neck are irregular and such pleasant warmth he considers keeping her like this forever. Sadly, forever just has no meaning to humans.

“Well, then, Jo,” he mutters in her skin, sliding his palms back, touching her wrists, “better work on your technique.” He threads their fingers together for a moment and when he draws back, the knife is in her possession again. Not that it does her any good, though she’s opened her eyes and is looking at him again as he leans back and smiles at her, hands on her waist still- he’s a demon, he doesn’t have to restrain himself from anything.

“Isn’t this relying on your luck a little too much?” she asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Don’t flatter yourself, doll, that’s just a gesture, you can’t really do anything with it now, can you?” he asks and leans in closer again, but she doesn’t flinch away this time, her look speculating. He can’t say that he likes that and he can’t say that he doesn’t.

There are things beyond things he’d like to do to her now, but he really is on a tight schedule and theoretically there’s a chance someone might come along soon, this is not a place for this at all. Besides, messing with sort of allies is never good for business.

He steps half a step back when the girl apparently discovers the mobility of her legs and tries to kick him unsuccessfully.

“Ah, ah, be calm now, do no violence and I will be less tempted to return it, hmm?” Crowley takes hold of her legs and steps between her thighs, within her warmth again. She looks as if actually pouting about the failure. He has to admit he’s always liked cute things. Nice, cute, breakable things. And Jo looks very cute, hanging like she is to the wall and pouting at a demon as strong as him.

Despite the way he is pressed against her, the panic doesn’t come back, as if the blasted knife is a safety blanket or something. He tightens his grip on her thighs, runs his tongue from her earlobe up to the tip of her ear and steps back away altogether.

She’s staring at him now in a way he doesn’t quite understand. Like maybe she wants to play with him now or maybe she’s just waiting for a chance to go for the kill. Probably the latter. It makes him smile; he looks her over once again before walking away and opening the car door. The gate is still open.

“Try to not get in any fights where you don’t know you’ll win, Jo,” he says over his shoulder as he gets in the car. He’s been lingering way too long already. The invisible bonds keeping her up disappear the moment the car starts. As he drives away, he can’t stop looking in the rear-view mirror. She’s standing there, looking _less_ unsure than when he first saw her.

He doesn’t know what that could mean for him, but he might be a little fascinated.


	6. 6. Just A Tenderness, Sam

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He's always the one to sleep with the weirdest strangers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'mechanical/technological'

The darkness feels like jelly, like slow wet slugs covering his skin. The only thing he can hear is his own breath. He can’t remember where he is, why or anything else. He hears a ticking, confusing and loud in the black. He passes out again before figuring out what it means.

The second time he comes to he thinks ‘ _Dean_ ’ and remembers who he is. Where he is still doesn’t come to him, so he tries to think. The ticking is there again. A clock, probably, but he can’t be sure, because the distances between one tick and the next are tricky, they change and when he expects there to be a tick, there suddenly isn’t one.

He doesn’t stay awake longer than a couple of minutes the third time either.

The ticking feels loud, as if it’s pushing at Sam, telling him to wake up, to pay attention. It does wake him, captures him and refuses to let go, to let him retreat back to dreams he can’t remember. He counts along, measures his time in the waking world in ticks and clicks because there is nothing else. _Tick-tick-tick…_

It’s calling him, trying to tell him some secret, but he’s tired and secrets are bad, so he says “I have a brother,” the ticking doesn’t reply with anything, so he goes on. “He will save me,” he stubbornly tries to make the clock understand, but it just goes on babbling about something. He thinks the ticking is asking him ‘ _from what?_ ’ but he’s almost asleep and doesn’t know the answer, so he keeps quiet. He turns his head so that the sticky side is not touching the floor and sleeps again.

The next time the clock wakes him it’s slower, quieter, like it’s talking to someone else and he doesn’t like that. The ticking is all for him, no one else should be here. He tries to look, see who’s stealing his spin and whirl measured secrets, but it’s as black with his eyes open as it is with them closed. He’s almost angry, filled with the irrational urge to argue again just to turn the attention back on him.

He sighs and his ribs ache a little and the next five clicks sound like a huff, a laugh. It’s laughing at him now. But then it quiets again and the whispered clicks flow his way again, telling Sam fairytales or maybe reciting poetry that’s all made up of a single recurring rhyme. The anger drains away and he smiles in the clock’s direction and listens until he is lulled back to sleep.

_ Tick-tick-tick _ , it’s like a whisper he hears half asleep, touching him but not really, making his skin shiver a little, he wraps his hands around his middle to keep away the cold and listens, tries to answer, but can’t manage. ‘ _It’s ok’_ , the click says. So Sam just listens as the sound rolls all over him.

_ Tick-click-tick! _ Sam jolts awake because of the mechanical sound screaming in his ear, telling him to ‘ _move, now!_ ’ He’s confused, but he knows the clock is something not unlike a friend, so he makes an attempt, tries to focus on the loud ticks instead of the pain and dizziness and rolls closer to the now familiar sound of a hundred meanings.

A vibration jolts him when he’s on his back again; the floor shakes as something large and heavy hits where he was just moments ago, a piece of the old half-rotten ceiling. “Thank you,” he sighs quietly and tries to not choke on the unsettled dust cloud. The ticking is quiet for some time, but then he thinks he hears a ‘ _you’re welcome_ ’ in it as it resumes its continuous counting peacefully.

He doesn’t quite fall asleep anymore, there are new sounds somewhere above, then closer and then there is light too, spilling in the room like water.

“Sam,” he hears a loud voice, rough and filled with barely concealed panic.

“Here,” he replies, as good as he can. There are hands grabbing at him, pulling him upright, then Dean is there and helping him walk, dragging him out of the old basement.

He tries to listen, but his ears are not good enough and maybe the clock has nothing more to tell him, now that he’s leaving. Like a stranger in the morning after, now that the sleeping part is over. Sam kind of thought they were more than just that.

“Goodbye,” he still murmurs into the darkness as they leave. He gets no answer but his brother’s worried looks.


	7. 7. Paint The Sky, Dean/Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean's timing sucks, but his dreams are awesome.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'rubbing/grinding'

He’s dreaming. He knows this because Cas is there and they’re in the same alley where he beat him up. Dean has no reason to be there and he hasn’t seen Cas in a long time now, so this can be nothing but a dream. It’s a chance to see Cas, though, so he takes it as a happy dream even when he’s being thrown around like a rag doll. It’s a dream so any pain and injuries will be gone by morning anyway.

When the memory plays to the part where he’s pressed against the wall, held up by angelic strength, he reaches up and wraps his hands around the violent angel. It’s his own damn dream, if he can’t admit he misses him here, where can he?

“I miss you,” he goes for simple and to the point. The angel isn’t moving, frozen under his arms. Sadly Dean can’t really control his dreams very well, can just hope this doesn’t dissolve into nothingness too soon.

“You miss _this_?” is the exclamation he wasn’t expecting. He would even say he detects incredulousness in it. It just makes him laugh and clutch at the dream version of an angel tighter.

“Hell, Cas, yes, I miss this. Anything’s better than nothing, you know. This, this is good.” He feels the unnaturally strong hands release him at that and panics for a moment that this is it, that this is over already. He tries to pull him closer, not let him go, however futile that would be if he tried to leave. But this is his dream, maybe he can just wish it to work.

He doesn’t expect it when Cas hugs him back, leans his forehead againstDean’s. His dreams are awesome.

Of course, this reminds him of the happy couple of boys he saw exaggerating a little with the public displays of affection on the street the other week, of how he thought ‘I could have had that with Cas’. He’d spent the whole night drinking himself stupid, coming to the conclusion that he would have _wanted_ to have that with Cas and then to the conclusion that his ‘big epiphanies’ timing sucked like little else.

Apparently his dream Cas can read thoughts too, because he expels a surprised breath and presses closer, their bodies touching a lot more than any non sexual situation permits. Dean opens his eyes, tries to look at him, but then there are hot lips against his and an aborted thrust of Cas’ hips against his. Oh, hell _yes_ , his dreams are awesome.

He kisses back, tries to slide his hands under the many layers of clothes the angel is wearing with little to no success. He groans when his hips rub against Cas’ just right and hears a similar sound from the angel. This is-, he’d probably be freaked out by anything more after his very recent self discovery even in his own dreams, but this is like what happiness probably feels like. He doesn’t quite remember.

Dean feels the hand on the back of his head, between the cold hard wall and him, and there is heat from the white burning star that’s in front of him pouring into Dean, chasing away the coldness. He moves his hips just right again because this is _his_ wet dream and gasps as it feels way better than it should so soon.

A couple of wet sloppy kisses and a collection of movements that would take them nowhere, fast, if this was real, and he feels pleasure overcome him and all he can think is ‘no, not yet, I don’t want to leave this’.

The next thing he knows is the darkness of his room and a familiar feeling that both scares him more than anything and thrills him so much he feels dizzy.


	8. 8. Like Strangers, Dean/Ellen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The first time there is alcohol. There is no real excuse for the second time, though.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'ageplay'

The first time they have sex, they’re both kind of drunk. That might also be the main reason they have sex at all, because Ellen sure as hell ain’t the kind of woman that sleeps around, especially with boys. Because that’s what Dean is from her point of view, a boy.

So, the first time they’re drunk because she meets him at a bar and he’s on his way to oblivion. Ellen notices he’s alone, no Sam in sight, so that might be why he’s so keen on the alcohol. She keeps him company while he keeps buying her drinks and talking about everything but what’s really on his mind.

Turns out he buys her quite a lot of shots, because she wakes up naked in his bed sometime around noon the next day. Dean’s still asleep, arm around her waist and she remembers enough to know she definitely agreed to everything that happened if not initiated it, remembers even his surprise when he realized what was on the table.

Dean , it seems, remembers a lot less than her, the boy actually blushes when he wakes up enough to realize who’s in his bed. He also apologizes and calls her ma’am and Ellen hasn’t laughed so much in a long time as she does when he gets tangled up in the sheets and falls down on the ground in his haste to get out of the bed and to his clothes.

She decides to take a pity on him and leaves to the bathroom to let him get dressed in peace. When she comes back out, he’s dressed and not blushing anymore, but it seems he really doesn’t remember much, because he apologizes some more. Ellen interrupts him.

“Don’t have anything to be sorry for, as far as I can remember.”

“Yes ma’am,” he replies looking somewhere over her right shoulder and that’s the end of it.

Turns out they’re both in town for the same hunt, so over a very awkward breakfast at the local diner they decide to team up. It’s a pretty simple salt and burn case, but Ellen enjoys it a lot more than expected. It’s been a long time since anyone’s listened to her plans and followed her orders without a single complaint. She can’t be sure if it’s because of last night or if he’s always been so respectful to her and she hasn’t had a chance to notice, but she’s called ma’am more times that day than she can ever remember it happening any other day, hell, any other week. It makes her feel old and drives her a little crazy.

The fact she can feel he’s staring at her several times as the day goes on also sets her teeth on edge too, but he’s always looking away by the time she turns to him, so she can’t say a thing about that.

When they get back in town after they’ve burned the bones, Dean stops at his hotel room. They’ve already gotten out of the car when he stumbles and stops.

“Sorry, I don’t know where you’re staying, should have asked. Where should I take you to?” he asks and turns back to the car.

The thing is, when you start something, it’s pretty hard to stop, or so Ellen’s always thought.

“Didn’t get a room yesterday,” he looks at her and can’t meet her eyes again. She steps a couple of steps closer to him, “do I need to get one now?”

That makes him look her in the eyes. He looks surprised and it takes him some time to find words and then it’s only a “No, ma’am,” but that’s enough.Ellen steps closer, finds the room key in his pocket and heads to the door. He follows after a moment of stillness.

When they get inside and the door’s locked, he kisses her, puts his hands on her waist. It’s sweet, but he’s too careful and shy and this isn’t what she wants- she ain’t breakable as he would know if he’d remember. So Ellen’s left to take charge and in the space between the door and the bed they’ve lost most of their clothes and Dean’s gotten some more in the same mood that she’s in. He pushes Ellen on the bed, kisses her hipbone, thigh and slides her panties off. She makes room for him between her legs and he loses the rest of his own clothes and starts to search for something in his jeans pockets. She really doesn’t sleep with a whole lot of people and protection is something she hasn’t had to consider in a long time, so it takes her a moment to realize he’s looking for a condom. She doesn’t really remember this part of last night that well.

The boy is probably as clean as anyone, she has no doubt he’s always careful.Ellen knows she is too. The logical thing here would also be the damn stupid one, if only she were younger.

“There’s no real need for that anymore,” she tells him and stills his hands.

He looks down at her and she knows the moment he understands what that means- his pupils dilate so much his eyes look all black and he lets go of the clothes and leans down and finally kisses her like he means it, all tongue and teeth and yeah, he’s all the way in the right mood _now_ , no shyness left in him at all as he settles over her. There’s a new heat in everything he does now, like she’s said some magic word, like knowing she’s that much older makes her somehow more desirable. It’s not like she cares much about the why, though, when this is what she gets.

He manhandles her some to arrange her how he likes, spreads her legs more to have more room and touches her like he wants everything she has. She tries to hold on to his hair as he leaves a trail of openmouthed kisses down her neck and chest, but it’s too short and then she just clutches at his shoulders when he takes her nipple in his mouth and sucks hard, his hand cupping her other breast, thumb sliding over the nipple again and again. Ellen moans loudly and then shudders as he bites down, then kisses the swell of the other breast and slides his hand down her side to her hip, then down the inside of her thigh to her knee and lifts up, bends her leg before moving the hand back up.

He licks a line up from her breast to shoulder and bites the skin there the same moment his hand reaches her where she’s undeniably wet and ready for him. She knows she scratches his back when he starts rubbing her clit, she hopes it leaves a mark as sure as his teeth on her neck will.

He slides two fingers into her a few times but she wants more, puts her hands on his ass and tries to pull him closer. He leans back, smiles at her and then kisses her again, slides his hand under the small of her back and she arches into him trying to touch as much as possible, feel as much pressure against every part of her skin as she can get. Then it’s all gone when he sits back, lifts her closer to him, aligns his cock and she fists her hands in the sheets and he pushes forward, into her, and groans. Her skin gets hotter as he slides in and when he’s all the way inside her, she feels like she’s burning, the sheets rough against her skin all of a sudden and she needs him to move now.

He does, he’s not particularly careful about it either, the rhythm fast enough from the start. It makes her skin feel tingly and tight, like it’s too small for her and he leans down over her again, kisses her awkwardly and twists her nipple almost painfully. Then he reaches down and presses on her clit, rubs it while trying to keep the rhythm and she arches against him again, and the pressure and the responding heat of him is perfect and everything is enough and her muscles twitch and the insides of her eyelids are full of exploding circles. She shudders and stills and he keeps going while she’s barely connected to the reality for a few moments.

Then she’s back there and her muscles have all turned into a vaguely twitchy jelly. Dean’s bracing himself on his hand, the other on her hip keeping her in place as his thrusts get faster and jerkier. His breath comes in gasps against her neck and everything feels too much now, she’s too sensitive all over and her nails dig into his shoulder blades. He comes with a stuttered moan and she thinks she makes some kind of a wet noise because she can _feel_ him.

He collapses against her and the both of them take some time to get their breathing in some kind of order. Minutes pass and he slips out of her and tries to move from where he’s on top of her. She presses her palms at his back and keeps him in pace. She likes the weight of him.

Nothing wrong with being older, she thinks, when she wakes up the next morning to a very different Dean than the previous day. He still calls her ma’am, but he manages to make it sound like the most suggestive thing ever now. Ellen thinks she might like it.


	9. 9. We All Fall Down, Sam/Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There are reasons Crowley doesn't like Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'drugs/aphrodisiacs'

„Why do you like Dean better?” is the question that greets him when appearing in Singer’s house. Crowley is considerably surprised, but he has enough experience to maintain a completely blank, maybe very mildly interested expression in face of any and all surprises, this included.  
  
“Because he is not the one that will fall off the wagon and kill us all,” he replies and turns to face the other Winchester. The addict one, apparently drinking beer alone in the kitchen. “Like now. Aren’t you supposed to be on bed rest?”   
  
There was an accident involving a rabid werewolf that no one else is quite clear on how it happened and Sam himself refuses to elaborate on. It has left Sam Winchester with a bunch of scrapes down his side, some stitches for the deeper scratches and, if Crowley’s not mistaken, pain meds strong enough to knock out a horse.  
  
“I will not!” the boy declares in a scandalized voice, as if Crowley’s just accused him of intimate relations with sheep or something equally silly and unimportant in face of the real problem. He looks kind of depressed and uncoordinated; it’s honestly a quite scary look on someone so big. “Why can’t you just pretend to like me?”   
  
The beer bottle gets discarded on the table and falls over with a clinking sound, the last remnants of the liquid spilling out in a small puddle. Sam doesn’t notice.  
  
“Why would I want to do that?” he asks and slowly walks across the room. It’s like he suspected- Sam can hardly follow his progress at all, never mind actually making his eyes focus on him. He’s had his pain meds _and_ alcohol. Oh, no, he doesn’t have substance abuse problems at all, he should go do this more often in fact.  
  
“Because I’ll be dead soon anyway,” Sam replies and collapses on a kitchen chair with downcast eyes. The chair creaks ominously and Sam slumps a little more as if it’s agreeing to him. He even sniffles quietly. Oh, this is probably the saddest and most pathetic he’s seen anyone in ages. It’s irritating and at least halfway false. Really, _sniffling_?  
  
“Like hell,” Crowley snaps, finally letting his voice mirror his mood, and that gets the boy’s attention. “There is no way I would ever be that lucky. You Winchesters always come back one way or another.” Sam is frowning at him now and by the looks of it getting more and more upset. Considering how much under the influence he seems to be, it would probably greatly amuse Crowley if he tried to hit him now.  
  
“That is it! Why do you hang around Dean so much? I don’t trust you to not kill him. Or do something.” He looks as if he had more to say, but forgot what it was. Pity, that, it would have probably been something interesting, some new theory of how he’s going to stab them in their backs.  
  
Crowley’s close enough to speak quieter now, quiet enough so no one else currently in the house might hear. Also he is too damn frustrated to coddle the drugged idiot, so he goes for where he thinks it will hurt.  
  
“Are you jealous, Samuel? Wasn’t one demon enough for you?” Apparently he’s successfully hit a sore subject, because he’s barely finished the second sentence, when Sam is upright again and pushing him against the counter violently. It doesn’t even take any supernatural strength to reverse them with how slow the boy’s reflexes are in this state. Crowley takes this as permission, as excuse to get closer, he might be shorter, but he can do intimidating quite well, very very well what with an eternity of experience.   
  
“Blame me for your own past stupidity, if you want, but don’t,” he hisses and pushes Sam back with unrestrained force; then remembers the stitches on Sam’s side and back as he winces in pain even with the haze he’s in. “ _Don’t_ come whining about it to me.”  
  
Sam’s not doing anything, not trying to get away nor saying anything, just looking at Crowley with black unfocused eyes. So black they remind him of demons, which would be fitting for this hell spawn. Yet there is absolutely no malice in the unfocused and confused gaze, only a desperate struggle to follow what Crowley is saying. It makes some of the anger drain out of him. Crowley thinks he’d actually be afraid, if those eyes ever became empty.  
  
“And don’t pretend you want to be best friends either,” he continues, because he is the kind of person that doesn’t know when to shut up, and then lets go of Sam’s shirt, steps back and turns to leave. This is not fun anymore, if it ever was, it just depresses him more.  
  
Suddenly there are big hands back on his shoulders, grabbing at his suit and pulling him back. He tries to knock them away, but Sam’s coordinated enough for this apparently and drags Crowley back to him. Crowley’s getting ready to disappear again before he’s attacked with demon knife, but then he pauses in his plans. He’s loath to admit it’s due to shock- Sam Winchester is hugging him.  
  
Crowley stays unmoving for a minute, but the arms around him only wind tighter. He turns to face Sam, smirks and can’t resist asking.  
  
“So this was about jealousy after all?” There is no way in hell he’ll admit this is kind of nice. He gets all the deal-sealing kisses, yes, but no one ever _hugs_ Crowley. It’s strange and uncomfortable, mostly, but still nice because it’s definitely different.  
  
“Shut up. You don’t make out with my brother,” are the words muffled against his cheek, as if he tried to whisper in his ear and didn’t quite measure the distance right.  
  
“I’m not making out with you either--,” he begins and then he is. Sam’s mouth is pressing against his lips, off center. He is kissing Crowley so sloppily he’s surprised he didn’t miss the lips altogether. Crowley can’t quite stifle the startled sound even though he tries. Sam’s hands just crush him stronger, as if he was trying to get away. As if it would stop him if he tried.  
  
This is not expected at all, but then, to be perfectly honest, it’s not completely unpleasant either. Granted, the kiss is wet and messy and a far cry from skilled, all because of the mix of medication probably, but it also bears great potential for blackmail. It’s also filled with heat that intoxicates Crowley and as he kisses back, slides his tongue in Sam’s mouth, he discovers Sam tastes very human, nothing demonic in him at all.   
  
The taste is almost sweet, but not quite, something that only people have. Crowley knows, as all manner of things have tried to trick him and seal deals for nonexistent souls. Sam’s possibly the sweetest tasting human Crowley’s ever kissed and he wonders, if that means he’s the most human of them all. Wouldn’t that be the saddest bloody joke the universe has ever played? Or maybe the sweetness is just the pain medication.  
  
Crowley’s hands wrap around Sam almost against his own will, the treacherous things, one tangling in his hair and the other settling on the small of his back. As the kissing stretches into minutes, Sam tries to drunkenly grope him, quite ungracefully, but it still turns Crowley on- the enthusiasm not thwarted any by being completely drugged.   
  
The fact Sam’s still capable of more than one action at a time is also quite amazing.  
  
He presses Sam into the counter, mindful of the injuries this time, and forces a moan out of him. He’s just good like that; maybe this _could_ go somewhere. He could say later on that he did it to be evil and take advantage too, so no ruined reputation or anything.  
  
“ _You are dead_ ,” spoken in the lowest, most calm and deadly voice he’s probably ever heard is what makes everything stop. At least, it makes Crowley stop; Sam still tries to kiss his neck with little success.   
  
Crowley wants to swear like never before. He’s completely certain Dean Winchester is standing inside the kitchen door, planning his swift demise. Why would he _not_ walk in on Crowley taking advantage of his drugged little brother? Why the bloody hell not?


	10. 10. A Lifetime Remains, Sam/Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What Sam wants to make the devil say is not a 'yes'.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'consent play'

“ _No_ ”. It’s always a ‘no’ when Sam touches like this. The devil doesn’t want to be touched like this, doesn’t want to be human enough to be touched like this.  
  
So Sam does, he presses his palms flat against Lucifer’s chest, pushes until he gives in and steps back. One step, then two more until his back is against the wall. Sam smiles, a sharp smile at that- he’s not the one with his back against a wall this time.  
  
Lucifer is waiting, looking at Sam with faint curiosity and doing nothing at all to stop him. The devil’s finally silent after all the time Sam’s been waiting, wanting for him to shut up and leave his dreams undisturbed. Sam’s made the devil silent just by touching him. Now he wants to know if he can make him say what _he_ wants. He won’t even ask for a ‘yes’.  
  
Sam keeps pressing on his chest with one hand and slides the other hand up, caresses Lucifer’s jaw and then drags his fingers roughly through the messy blond hair. All Lucifer does is make a strangled sound, like a protest that got stuck in his throat. It turns into a “ _no, stop_ ,” when Sam pulls at the hair and tilts his head forcefully.  
  
It makes Sam just clutch at the hair tighter and slide his hand under the shirt and up over smooth infinitely burning skin. “ _No, no, no_ ,” the sound translates to Sam in a way that makes him want more, more, more. He takes the last step separating them and destroys the empty space in between.  
  
Even in this dream where the devil wears a human face, he is made of something completely inhuman. His skin seems to burn Sam’s hands and make them numb at the same time, a strange unsettling kind of tingling that travels up his arm all the way to his shoulder blades.  
  
Sam kisses him with violence; unrestrained anger just like he always said he wanted. The refusal, denial that Lucifer speaks is now muted. Sam bites his lips, invades his mouth as much as he can manage just to show that he can.  
  
It’s stupid of course, this is a dream and the flesh under his hands holds an archangel and he could leave, disappear from this place anytime. Yet he doesn’t and so Sam pretends this is because he’s keeping him here.  
  
As Sam trails his bites away from lips and to the skin just under his jaw, Lucifer whimpers “ _no, no, no,_ ” out loud again and his hands come up, clutch at Sam’s shoulders and drag him closer.  
  
There’s a growl that Sam thinks came from himself and then he’s tearing at the devil’s clothes, the shirt goes first, torn to shreds, the rest take more effort but are gone soon enough too. All the while Lucifer keeps pulling him closer and denying him in the same breath.  
  
The devil is naked and trapped between Sam and a wall and Sam pushes closer, digs his fingers into skin and muscle wherever it’s the softest, wherever he thinks it would hurt if he were touching a human. It makes Lucifer’s ‘no’s mix with gasps that do sound human, they sound so deceptively vulnerable as he leans his head back and bares his throat the moment Sam wraps his hand around his length to test if he’s capable of feeling human pleasure.  
  
Sam watches as he trembles and tenses just like a human would. There are no scars on his skin, no signs of decay that nowadays adorn the real Lucifer. Nothing that marks this thing, this monster disguised as a man for what he truly is.  
  
So Sam leans down and bites, leaves his own marks. The devil lets him, lets the skin be damaged when he could make Sam’s signatures heal as easy as he hid the decay here.  
  
By the time Sam draws blood, the devil is a constant stream of ‘no’s. He keeps moving his hand, dragging pleasure mixed with pain sullied by its humanity out of the devil.   
  
Lucifer’s hands are on Sam’s hips, forever drawing him closer. Sam ignores those, just listens to the ‘no’s that make him feel like this is something he is doing all by his own choice. This is how he is in charge for once; this is how he shows Lucifer what it’s like to be forced.  
  
He presses his lips to Lucifer’s again, less biting, but he still kisses like he has something to prove, all tongue and pressure and anger. It takes a minute, but he finally notices that the burning feel of Lucifer’s body is actually freezing coldness.  
  
Lucifer’s skin is like ice to touch and yet it doesn’t seep into Sam where they’re pressed together, doesn’t transfer or spill out, it’s all contained within like a melody in a music box.  
  
The kiss is broken as Sam rocks his own hips against Lucifer’s and buries his face against the devil’s neck, tries to suck more colour into the skin there, speeds up the rhythm of his hand and through it all listens as much as he can into the never ending “ _no, no, no, no_.”  
  
He can feel the pleasant tingle of arousal all over, it’s running from his spine, settling into every inch of his skin and from there back to the small of his back and up his spine where it’s amplified and sent back out in never ending circles.  
  
When Sam makes the devil come like any pleasure driven human, he feels a fraction of that power he’s always craved wash over him like a wave. He did this, he made the king of hell twitch and shudder and gasp one last ‘no’ silently into Sam’s shoulder though maybe that one sounded more like ‘Sam’, but he’s not thinking about that now.  
  
It’s quiet afterwards, just the faint sounds of breathing. Sam is still tingling all over but he’s not going there, not doing anything about himself. This isn’t about that at all; he took all he wanted, he won’t give away anything of himself.  
  
He almost starts to laugh when the futility of all that’s just happened, of the sliver of control he managed to reclaim, dawns on him.  
  
He might have had some kind of power over something for a change, but this is all done, they’ve both spoken all their final ‘no’s, all the denial and protests.  
  
This is probably the last time he refuses, Sam thinks. The next time they meet he will most likely say a single ‘yes’ and with it erase his own existence. That’s just the way it’s got to be, his one last try destined to fail spectacularly.  
  
Lucifer looks up into Sam’s eyes suddenly and stares at him with unreadable ice blue eyes. “ _No_ ,” he says sharper than before like that is his final word. Like he just decided something important and Sam should know what that was.  
  
The devil places his palm on Sam’s jaw, caresses his face hesitantly. His hand doesn’t feel cold anymore, it feels warm and human.


	11. 11. Never See The Light Of Day, Dean/Lenore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At least she's not the kind of woman who would hit him for forgetting her name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'wet and messy'

„It astounds me that you’ve managed to survive this long,” is the first thing Dean hears when he comes to. Next he notices he’s on the floor in some kind of basement, his hands cuffed behind his back and the world is violently tilting like it wants to shove him off.  
  
Oh.  
  
What he remembers from earlier in the night is a mess in his head right now, but he is pretty sure he was drinking himself stupid at the bar. That would explain the damned tilting. As to how he got here, he’s drawing a blank- he was chatting up a pretty girl, followed her out and then it gets fuzzy as hell.  
  
“Also,” the strange voice continues and then there are hands on his shoulders dragging him up, “I’m severely offended that you managed to hunt _me_ down.”  
  
Yeah, those are not good words to hear when incapacitated at all.  
  
“Fuck,” Dean swears when he’s half pulled half dragged out of the dark room into light. It hurts his eyes and head and _fuck_. The pretty girl is lying on the floor in a puddle of her own blood. She’s also surrounded by a circle of summoning symbols that even _look_ evil and there’s a strong smell of sulfur coming from the body. Fucking demons.  
  
He turns to the person who he hopes is rescuing him and it’s a dark haired woman with big-- yeah, a nice girl. He has a vague memory of seeing her at the bar too and recognizing her. Women that have met him before are almost never good news to Dean, so he chose a seat as far away from her as possible and ignored her.  
  
“Huh,” is all he can manage, seeing as he still doesn’t remember where he’s seen her before.  
  
“You don’t recognize me?” she asks and starts laughing. Dean’s relieved because he knows from experience some girls get violent when you mix up names.  
  
“So, uh, what now?” he asks and yanks at the cuffs again just to make sure. The woman looks around and then leads him to the door of the run down building by his arm.  
  
“Now we walk. My car’s a couple of miles from here.”  
  
The cool air sobers him a little when they get out into the night and he stares at her incredulously right up until he stumbles on the uneven ground and has to focus on not falling.  
  
“You want me to walk two miles while drunk and with my hands cuffed?” The only reason he’s not swearing right now is because he does have to get back to civilization somehow and angering her would be bad for that.  
  
“Sorry, I looked, she didn’t have the key anywhere on her,” she answers absolutely unapologetically. Dean contemplates swearing at the dead demon but in the end just sighs and follows her.  
  
After five minutes of walking in silence only broken a few times when Dean stumbles, it starts misting. That does provoke a string of swearing followed again by silence. The only good thing about this is watching the girl’s hips sway while the she walks a few steps in front of him. Yeah, she’s a nice girl alright. How can he not remember her?  
  
Another five minutes later it’s raining a little harder, water trailing down Dean’s back under his clothes. The ground is slippery and Dean’s soaked and a lot more sober. The rain’s making this rustling sound that’s driving Dean crazy because he can’t tell if it’s all real or amplified in his head by alcohol and head trauma.  
  
“Wait, did you say I hunted you down?” he asks, suddenly remembering that part of waking up.  
  
“Yes. You did,” she answers neutrally without looking back at him, “a few years ago.”  
  
“And, uh,” he starts carefully, “how did that go?” Fuck, fuck, fuck, he is so screwed.  
  
She doesn’t answer, just laughs again. The rain’s messing with the poor light the moon is giving off and Dean can’t even see where he’s going. On cue it starts to rain stronger and Dean stumbles again, his feet are almost numb by now, and he falls down this time. The road is muddy under his cheek and softer than he expected. He tries to get up with all his current impairments but only gets as far as kneeling before he deems the whole thing useless.  
  
The woman reaches for his shoulder again, tries to pull him up, but Dean resists, leans back and it all ends with her on her knees as well.  
  
“Look, lady, if you want to kill me, show some damned mercy and do it now. Don’t make me drag myself for God knows how long in this weather,” he says loudly to be heard over the downpour. He really hopes she doesn’t want to kill him, but if that’s the case no way in hell is he going any further than this. At least she’s hotter than the last girl that tried to kill him, like, half an hour ago.  
  
She says something, he can see, but he only hears stray letters through the noise, so he shakes his head and says, “I can’t hear you,” as loudly as he can. Suddenly she’s leaning forward into his space, speaking right next to his ear as if whispering.  
  
“My name’s Lenore,” she says. “You hunted me and then you let me go. I don’t kill people.”  
  
Dean thinks for a moment and yeah, he remembers that, she’s the vampire chick that Sam rescued. He really should be more disturbed by being this close to a vampire, but he really can’t, not when she’s keeping some of the cold away.  
  
Lenore touches his cheek, her fingers drag trough the mud there and help the rain wash it away. It feels warm and so damned good he can’t resist leaning into it. It’s possible he also exhales rather loudly forgetting their position and just how well she can hear him.  
  
She pauses and then presses her palm more firmly against the side of his face. Her lips press against his temple and slide down to his own, she kisses him slowly, just a brush. When he shows no resistance at all she puts her other hand on the back of his neck and pulls him closer, kisses him different, bites his lip and slides her tongue into his mouth.  
  
Dean only has half a minute to enjoy the surprisingly expert kisses before he overbalances and falls back on his heels. He starts to laugh but then Lenore straddles his thighs, licks the water running down the side of his neck and rocks against Dean’s hard on and his laugh ends as a strangled moan.  
  
His hands are still behind his back and that’s not how he wants that to go, but the girl’s obviously enjoying herself, rubbing against him, her breasts pressed against his chest and he can feel that through his soaked clothes. Dean’s not complaining, but he’d really like to do this whole thing with no clothes on.  
  
He groans when she presses down just right and licks his lips then kisses him again. She tastes like water, nothing else and he likes how it runs down their faces and finds its way into their kisses. Their wet clothes catch and stick together when she rubs their bodies together, slow everything down until Lenore gives up on the lifting up part, just presses closer with every thrust of her hips until the pressure’s almost unbearable, but so so good.  
  
Their kisses though, those are wet and slick and their lips slide over skin in a way that makes Dean feel like he’s doing something else entirely. He drinks off her skin, licks the water off just to have the rain cover everything again in an instant.  
  
Lenore’s thrusts get faster and she clutches at his shoulders and leans her head back exposing her neck. The way her lips look parted in the dim light, Dean thinks she’s moaning but he can’t hear anything. He just licks her neck again, doesn’t stop himself and bites down. It’s not even strong enough to leave a mark, but she stills above him and he feels her shudder, it goes right down to his groin and now he’s moaning too.  
  
As she looks back down at him, he goes for another water slicked kiss and she gets the message loud and clear, slides her hand between them and presses her palm against his length, fingers trying to curl around it despite the fabric in the way. It only takes her a few moments to make him come and it’s like a wave of heat with shooting stars and everything that leaves him shuddering in the cold wet clothes when he comes down.  
  
He can’t keep his balance like this any longer so he leans his head against Lenore’s very nice chest until his breathing slows down.  
  
“Can you walk? It’s not that far anymore,” she says and he can feel her breath against his neck.  
  
“Yeah, I can try, let’s go,” he feels her put her hands around him and touch his wrists, there’s some movement and the cuffs fall open releasing his hands. Lenore tries to get up, but Dean stops her with his hands on her hips.  
  
“You had the key the whole time!” He’s pissed now for the suffering he had to endure, apparently for nothing.  
  
“Yes. And you’re not the one who decided to let me go the last time we met. I like my head attached to my body.”  
  
Dean can’t really disagree. He can’t say he never would have tried to behead her if he’d been sober and had his weapons. But damned, he’s still pissed about the walk.  
  
He lets her up and gets up himself, shifts from one foot to the other until he gets some feeling back in them and they resume walking. He winces at the sticky feeling in his pants, but then all his clothes are sticking to him so it doesn’t make that much a difference.  
  
The rain seems to be running over and he can see a little better again. Hell, it’s a nice view, her walking in front of him and swaying her hips like that.


	12. 12. Both Of Us Guilty, Dean/Jo

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean knows he deserves whatever happens.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'penance/punishment'

Every time he wakes up, his first move is to go for the knife under the pillow. It has saved his life and maybe will in the future too, but not tonight. Tonight he stops his hand barely halfway to where he keeps the blade. Mostly because of what he sees in the dim light filtering through the smoky windows.  
  
“It can’t be,” he whispers and tries not to blink just to keep the apparition from disappearing.  
  
“Miss me, Dean?” the woman standing by the dirty window asks. She’s blond and slim and her voice sounds exactly like, she looks like…  
  
“Jo?” He blinks now and she’s still there. She doesn’t vanish, instead she comes closer, her moves flowing and catlike, different than what Dean remembers.  
  
“That’s me,” she answers and for a painful moment Dean thinks he knows what’s going on. If this is real and not a dream, then Jo is haunting him. Jo’s a ghost.  
  
He closes his eyes and sighs, it sound somewhat like a sob. He wants to say ‘ _I’m sorry_ ’, wants to fall on his knees and beg for forgiveness or for hell; he’d take hell in her place if he could.  
  
Then she reaches out and touches him, startles him into opening his eyes and slides her palm over his shoulder lightly. Her touch feels real and warm enough. She’s got different clothes too, a dress, and Dean’s pretty sure ghosts don’t change from what they were wearing when they died. She might be real.  
  
Through it all Dean’s still down on his back on the bed and when he realizes this, he rushes to get up, do something. He’s stopped before he even manages to sit up fully by Jo’s hand on his chest pushing him back down.  
  
“No, you don’t get up now, Dean. Don’t worry, we’ll have enough fun between ourselves as it is,” Jo says in a falsely soothing voice, like she’s trying to calm a wild animal. There’s something wrong with all of this, but Dean can’t tell what, he’s not thinking right, not even trying.  
  
And then Jo’s kneeling down on the bed next to him and her hands slide underneath the hem of his T-shirt and up his stomach, his chest and Dean can’t breathe.  
  
“Jo, what--” he tries to object.  
  
“Shh, let me, Dean. This is what you wanted that night isn’t it?” She moves her leg over him and straddles him.  
  
“Yes, but you said, you,--” he doesn’t even know how he’d end that sentence when she stops him with a kiss. His hands go up to her hips automatically.  
  
He’s still not sure he’s fully awake and this, Jo alive and here, is so very much something he’d want, something he’d give anything to have. So he doesn’t resist, doesn’t think at all, just kisses back and lets her take his shirt off and map his skin with her soft little hands.  
  
When he slides his palms up to her shoulder blades Jo takes his hands, pulls until he lets go and lays them gently above his head. Yeah, he can do that if she wants him to, sure.  
  
She then trails kisses down to his chest and licks at his nipple, bites down lightly. Her hands go lower and she releases him from his boxers, strokes him teasingly where he’s already hard. Dean moans quietly, arches up into her touch. It’s wrong only because everything about this is wrong, but Jo is here, Jo that Dean killed, so it’s all good.  
  
“This is what I want now, Dean,” she whispers to him and slides up his body some and sits up. Dean opens his eyes and she’s lifting her skirt up, it brushes against his skin. She braces one hand on his shoulder, positions him with the other and slides down. This isn’t what he wants now, but then again it really is.   
  
Her fingers bend, her nails dig into his shoulder as she takes him all in. She doesn’t relax her hand when she’s all the way down; it feels like she’s broken skin, muscles in Dean’s arm twitch and he wants her to move her hand or her to move.  
  
Jo puts her other hand on Dean’s chest and lifts herself slowly up then sinks back down and Dean ignores the sharp nails still digging into his skin and focuses on the feeling of her above him. He can take this, Jo’s here so he’s going to take everything, anything.   
  
They move quietly against each other for moments or minutes, he’s not sure.  
  
“I want this now,” Jo says and presses her nails into his chest, drags her hand down leaving red lines in the way. Dean opens his eyes and looks and Jo’s smiling down at him. Her eyes flash black and her nails draw blood from his side, he can feel it sluggishly sliding down his ribs into the sheets.   
  
“You did this to me,” she says and Dean can see her teeth in her smile. “You did this to me and I want _this_ now.” Maybe this is how he gets to take her place in hell.  
  
He wants to reach up, touch her, push her away but this is his fault, he deserves this, needs this now, so he doesn’t move at all, just thrusts up every time she sinks down. Jo’s smile gets wider, sharp white teeth flashing, and her moves get faster.   
  
It’s all mixed together, every thrust followed by a rake of nails, another thrust and a prod at one of the bleeding cuts. He can’t tell which is which anymore when she moves faster yet again; he arches into the scratches as much as into her warmth.  
  
She digs her nails into his neck when he comes apart shaking, muscles twitching away from her touch. As he slides out of blackness, he hears her say, “You did this to me,” once again.   
  
There are tears sliding down his temples into his hair and it kind of tickles.


	13. 13. Pictures Of You, Anna/Ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Ruby isn't like the other demons.  
> \---  
> \+ High Tide  
> Anna finds Ruby with no certain goal in her mind.  
> \---  
> \+ The Way You Hide  
> Ruby looks different, dressed like this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> parts written for kink bingo 'object penetration', 'sensation play' and 'crossdressing'

There’s a knife sliding up the naked skin of her thigh. The flat side of the blade is cold, it presses too strong against her heated skin, making all the hair on her body stand on its end.  
  
Anna shivers when a hot breath ghosts over her side, then turns wet and focused at the back of her neck. She gasps, can’t hold the sound in with all her attention following the lazy movement of the knife over her skin.  
  
It slides higher, curves around her hip, presses against her belly and goes higher still. No matter how long it touches her skin it doesn’t heat up, the blade feels ice cold the same as before. It must be demon magic, Anna thinks and tries to hold on to the colorless wall in front of her without much success.  
  
She wants to press her face to the wall, but can’t move because of the knife traveling across her body. There are beads of sweat gathering on her forehead.  
  
“So, Anna, am I like the other demons?” a voice asks right by her ear. How did she not notice her move? She feels something soft slide over her shoulder, glances down and sees black hair spilling over her red. She knows no answer is required; she just listens, trying to memorize the low sound of Ruby’s voice and slow her own breathing at the same time.  
  
It’s not working, the moment the blade stops and presses over her breast, her exhalations turn into sharp gasps, calming only when it slides away again.  
  
The hard ground is digging into her knees and she feels very unsteady all of a sudden. Just then Ruby presses her palm to her hip, slides it down the inside of her thigh and pulls her bare legs further apart.  
  
The knife slides lower again, tipped so that one side catches on her ribs ever so slightly. Ruby is a presence behind her, Anna can feel her warmth, but she’s not close enough to ground her.  
  
“You like this, not seeing my face, don’t you?” Ruby asks. At the same time the knife is passing the bellybutton again and then it’s gone. A moment later something hard is pressing inside her insistently, it slides inside and a warm hand catches her around the waist right before her knees give out.  
  
Anna moans as the hard cold thing slides out and then back in again with maybe too much force.  
  
“How about this?” Ruby whispers and comes closer, her whole body tightly pressed to Anna’s back, and speaks again, “Yeah, like that, lover,” and presses the thing, oh God, the hilt of the knife inside again and Ruby’s knuckles brush against her.  
  
Anna whimpers and tilts her head back against Ruby’s shoulder, tries to catch her breath. The knife is inside her, oh, she shudders around its strange hardness and coldness, then shivers again when the fingers holding the knife press against her right there, yes, oh God.  
  
“Yeah, just like that, so I can feel you,” Ruby says and repeats the exact same movements again and again until Anna can’t breathe like she is anymore and has to lean her head forward. Her breaths are more like gasps as she tries to inhale enough air, they start sounding more like sobs soon enough.  
  
Anna’s hands are trembling, she’s being held up mostly by Ruby’s body behind her.  
  
Ruby thrusts the hilt into her roughly one last time, twists her hand and licks a hot line up one of Anna’s shoulder blades. Anna comes and her hands give out, slide across the wall and she doesn’t care.  
  
She only stays upright because Ruby’s already leaning with one hand against the wall the same moment the knife makes a clattering sound as it falls to the floor between Anna’s knees. Ruby’s breaths are fast and hot and irregular against Anna’s neck.

\---

 

It starts unexpectedly. Anna appears in front of the demon without knowing why she’s come here, what her goal is. She vaguely considers exorcising her, but she’s not sure. She can still be unsure- that’s a relief.  
  
“Hello, handsome,” the demon Ruby says without appearing surprised to see her at all. “How are those new wings working for you?”  
  
It seems like a question Anna should answer, but she doesn’t know how; they work the same as always. Ruby slinks closer and presses her hot hand to Anna’s ribs; the suddenness and the lack of hesitation of the movement startle her.  
  
“How about we test what you can still do?” she asks and rises her eyebrow suggestively. After a moment of stillness Ruby continues, “I’ll make it good, I promise.” Anna doesn’t answer, but she takes a step closer and nods, a single downward movement of her head.  
  
Ruby strips her quickly, doesn’t hesitate or play with revealing skin. When Anna is naked, Ruby leads her to the bed, lays her down on her back and ties a scarf around her head to blind Anna. She can choose not to see Ruby’s demon face now, if she wants, but she stays quiet about it. She also doesn’t say she can easily see through the cloth with her new senses, though she chooses not to, to indulge Ruby’s wishes.  
  
There are rustling sounds that Anna supposes are made by Ruby undressing herself. Then the bed dips as Ruby gets on it with her, somewhere next to her.  
  
The first touch is surprising, even though Anna was waiting for something to happen. Fingertips brush down her cheek and over her jaw; they feel hot like a flame now.  
  
Then there is no skin touching her anywhere anymore, but hot gusts of air all over her, starting at her shoulder, moving to her breasts and that makes her want to arch up somewhat, but she doesn’t. The breath on her belly makes her skin start to tingle a little, but it’s the wet hot air on the inside of her thigh that makes Anna gasp out aloud.  
  
She thinks she can feel Ruby smirk.  
  
It gets better after that, more breaths across her legs and then Ruby leans her head down and drags her long hair lightly up from Anna’s thigh to her chest. She lingers there, her hair slides over her breasts again and again until she realizes the hard breathing she can hear is her own.  
  
Then the hair is gone and Ruby blows hot air right over her nipple until the ache becomes too much and Anna does arch up, touches her breast to Ruby’s mouth. Finally, finally, Ruby touches her, sucks her nipple into her mouth and bites.  
  
All Anna does is moan as hot hands descend on her body and leave tingling traces all over. Ruby’s hands are sure, not gentle like the game before, they press into skin and explore and try in vain to leave lasting marks on Anna.  
  
She hopes Ruby’s smart enough to not draw angel blood, when her nails scratch her sides and her teeth bite into the soft skin of her breasts.  
  
Ruby licks a line down in the opposite direction than her hair traced earlier pausing to leave tooth marks next to Anna’s bellybutton and it makes her want to both recoil and lean into it. Ruby stops at the top of her thigh and then moves to the side, licks between her legs this time and Anna moans and then there is bliss.

\---

 

She finds the demon somewhere unexpected. Anna’s been battling a growing want to find her again and now she’s here, crouching invisible on the ledge of a balcony overseeing the lobby of an office building.  
  
She’s watching the demon, her demon talk with others of her kind, they’re arguing about something that she should probably be concerned about, but all she can think about is what her demon is wearing.  
  
It’s a man - young, handsome and dressed in a suit. It’s, Anna tilts her head to see better, it’s strange.  
  
She’s always been able to see the demon inside, even when she thought she was human, and now she can see it completely, the thing that was once human too and now isn’t, but is still female. Yet on the outside Ruby’s a man today.  
  
She moves and Anna can see how the movement isn’t right for the lawyer, all the tiny details and angles are womanly, unbecoming of this suit she’s wearing, yet she deceives the other onlookers with no difficulty.  
  
Anna spends hours trailing the demons until they part ways; invisible just to watch the borders of Ruby and a man blur together and still stay separate. How Ruby moves her hands and it’s the same movement, the exact same move Anna remembers from when different, smaller hands slid over her body.  
  
The new suit is fascinating, it’s male and it fools everyone else and Anna’s the only one who knows, _knows_ what’s underneath.  
  
She watches silently as Ruby makes a deal of some kind with a couple of equally official looking humans that have no idea whom they’re negotiating with. She then follows the demon to a hotel more spacious and aesthetic than usual.  
  
Ruby pours herself a drink and Anna stands behind her, in the middle of the room, still invisible.  
  
“So, how do you like the new look?” Ruby asks in a low voice that sounds like she’s smiling. She downs her drink and only then turns around.  
  
Anna wills herself visible; it seems like the polite thing to do after following her all day.  
  
“It’s… strange,” is all she can come up with, because it is. She thinks she could watch the wrongness of Ruby wearing a man for all of eternity, just to see how many gestures and moves she can recognize.  
  
Ruby winces and looks to the side, the blackness of her swirling angrily inside.  
  
“Yeah, ok, I’ll just change then and we can get to the fun part,” she says with her usual sarcastic inflection, nodding to the couch where her usual body is laying on the bed motionless and empty. Anna glances at it and then back at her. She does what she’s been doing all afternoon, looks the male body all over.  
  
Ruby looks ready to flee the suit and Anna’s right in front of her in an instant, with just a thought. She lays her hand on Ruby’s chest and looks up; she has to look up now.  
  
“Stay like this,” she says and slides her hand carefully up, into Ruby’s new short hair, reaches up to press her lips to Ruby’s. It turns out she kisses the same as before too, even if the body is different.


	14. 14. Right Through The Fire, Sam/Dean

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean wakes up to Sam watching him again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for salt_burn_porn, the prompt 'it was different than the first time'

If Dean didn't need to sleep, he'd watch himself sleep too, so he doesn't really mind. There's no denying he is _nice_ to look at. Not like he doesn't know. But waking up in the middle of the night to feel Sam staring at him makes him feel weird and for a moment he's disorientated and dizzy. A shiver runs down his spine.  
  
His fingers clench in the pillow without meaning to and he feels like hitting something. That's not new, that's what it felt like the first time he woke up to this, too.  
  
Dean wants to stretch, arch his back in that perfect way that arranges all the muscles right, but he's not sure he wants Sam to know he's awake yet. Fuck, Dean doesn't even know what he's planning right now, what he thinks will happen besides Sam shuffling off and pretending he wasn't staring even if he's been caught. That and his back hurts right between the shoulder blades, so Dean gives up this whole playing dead thing and slides his hands higher on the pillow to the headboard, holds on to it and pulls the other way until all the kinks in his back are smoothed out.  
  
When it's enough, Dean collapses back on the bed, face still in the pillow, but it's not thick or fluffy enough to smother him.  
  
It's silent in the room, probably the middle of the night, so it's easy to hear the sounds Sam makes as he prepares to get up, yes, but Dean also hears the sharp inhale. It's followed by moments of stillness and, after Dean makes no move to get up, an equally sharp exhale.  
  
Well that's- He has no idea what the attempt at porn sounds even means, especially when put together with Sam, freaking ensouled and whole, watching Dean sleep. It's _something_. That's what's different from the first time he woke up to this- Sam is _Sam_ again: he needs to sleep like everyone else, so there's no real excuse as to why the hell he's not doing just that right now, except that he wants to watch Dean more than he wants to sleep. Dean's a little sleep-hazy, so it takes him some time to think about all the different things that could mean.  
  
Sam's still sitting there a minute later, Dean can hear him breathe slightly faster than normal. Sam reacts to everything like a normal person again and to Dean it feels like goddamn sunshine and rainbows every time he does.  
  
Dean admits to himself he won't be able to fall asleep now.  
  
"Watching me sleep is your new favorite thing now?" he asks and only then presses down, puts his weight on his hands and gets up. Another full-body shiver passes through him as the cool air hits his sleep-warmed chest. He throws his feet over the edge of the bed, the carpet rough underneath them, and now he's sitting facing Sam.  
  
"No, I mean, uh, I wasn't--"  
  
"Dude, save yourself some shame and stop now." Really, the shifty eyes and innocent puppy ruse would be pathetic if it wasn't so predictable.  
  
And then it does stop. Sam locks up like a damn hermetic door, face blank and eyes dark and unreadable, looking straight at Dean. Sam's not even looking defensive, just emotionless; _Sam_ , who never shuts up about feeling and whatever is suddenly blank as a white page, Dean can't remember when he's ever shut down about something that fast. First off, Dean hates that; it reminds him of the other Sam, the one Dean wanted to kill in his sleep. Second, what the _hell_ is important enough for him to protect like that in this situation?  
  
Dean stares right back at him for long moments until Sam apparently decides that's the end of this conversation, gets up and starts for the door without changing his expression.  
  
Screw that. The conversation's over when Dean says it is.   
  
It takes Dean less than a second to slide his hand under his pillow and close it over his favorite gun, another few to rise up and slam bodily into Sam's back and push him into the wall in front of him. Sam is warm, radiates heat even and it takes Dean a moment too long to step back so Sam's immediate struggle turns into what could maybe be a winning move.  
  
"What the fuck, Dean, you--"  
  
Yeah, it could maybe be a winning move except Dean stops him by pushing the muzzle of the gun against his neck and switching the safety off with a quiet click. Sam freezes immediately with another sharp exhale, but that one might just be the way he was slammed into the wall. Dean lets go of the hand he was twisting up behind Sam's back slowly to make sure Sam won't come up with any tricks, but Sam just lets it fall to his side. Dean puts his left hand on Sam's right shoulder and turns him around, somewhat carefully. As close as they're standing, they brush against each other and Dean feels the hair at the back of his neck stand on its end. He completes the move by pushing Sam's shoulder against the wall just to make a point, even though the gun pointing at Sam's sternum probably does that adequately on its own.  
  
"So let's talk about the staring," Dean says and watches Sam's face carefully in the dim light.  
  
And isn't that a show he's never expected. Sam's eyes are wide and too black even for the current lighting, shifting incredibly fast between the gun and what Dean thinks of as his serious 'don't fuck with me' face. His lips are slightly parted and now he's definitely breathing faster than this little struggle would call for.  
  
Dean pushes the muzzle against Sam's chest to get his attention and when he finally catches Sam's eyes he sees Sam's pupils dilating even more, staring at Dean in a new kind of way.  
  
"Oh," is what Dean utters, he's not really sure yet but his brain is working overtime. He probably does say something along those lines because Sam's face looks like a failed attempt at locking up again and he gets back to struggling, this time with more success because for one moment Dean's stopped paying attention to holding him in place. Dean's pretty sure this is going to end badly if he lets Sam walk out the door right now, so he pushes him back until he's trapped against the wall and puts the gun back to the side of Sam's neck.  
  
The thing is, Dean has no idea how this is going to end if Sam stays, but he will figure that one out as he goes.  
  
Sam isn't so fast to stop moving this time and Dean pushes the gun at him some more.  
  
" _Dean_." It sounds like a cross between a warning and a whine and masks a soft click. Sam's finally still and his eyes are closed, head resting back against the wall and Dean knows Sam's not about to fight anymore, knows that's probably a different kind of warning.  
  
Fuck, this is important and Dean can't think, can't figure out if there's a right and a wrong in this situation, and if there is, which is which. He drags the gun over Sam's skin until he reaches his jaw. And Sam-, Sam inhales loudly and turns his head to give Dean more room. Dean can't help it, he rests is forehead on Sam's shoulder.  
  
"Is this what you want? This," he asks, punctuating it with a downward drag of his gun, less violent and more of a caress than the one before. He needs to know, has to hear the words because this is real, Sam is real and this isn't something they can take back later. Sam's warmth seeps into him through their clothes.  
  
The first answer sounds more like a sigh, and moments later Sam finds words.  
  
"I, yes. I want this." It's a strange kind of breathless admission, still laced with resignation.  
  
Dean turns his head and answers with biting the side of Sam's neck, then pressing his lips down against it. Sam jerks at that and the hitch in his breath that Dean hears when he presses a warning against Sam's chest makes Dean suppress yet another shiver.  
  
Sam slides his hands up Dean's sides and his fingers clench against his shirt as Dean trails a line of kisses under his jaw. One of Sam's hands slides under Dean's shirt and Sam turns his head for a kiss; Dean chooses that moment to take a step back, gun still trained on the middle of Sam's chest.  
  
"Take off your clothes," he orders and Sam complies, takes his own shirt off over his head a beat too fast, tosses it to the side and looks at Dean like he expects him to get back close.  
  
"Go on." Dean motions with his gun at Sam's jeans and Sam complies again, but slower this time.   
  
He keeps looking at Dean as he unbuttons his jeans, starts pushing them down his hips. Then his eyes fix on the gun in Dean's hand and he slows every movement even more. When he finally kicks his boxers off along with his jeans and looks at Dean with a challenge on his face, Dean takes another look at everything before him and decides he's had enough of not touching. He steps closer again and puts his gun against Sam's chest and his left hand in his hair, angles Sam's head right and leans in.   
  
There's a moment when their faces are barely a couple of inches apart where they both hesitate for a few seconds and then both go for it at the same time, the kiss is a mess of unexpectedness and perfect everything- their lips fit together like magic and every curl of their tongues against one another is awesome. It's all the exact opposite of what Dean would have imagined kissing Sam would be like.  
  
Dean presses closer, wants to feel all of Sam against him, when Sam breaks the kiss, leans away.   
  
"Wait, Dean, I need to know. Did we?"  
  
"Did we what?" Dean indulges a little in watching the way his gun looks against Sam's skin.  
  
"I remember watching you and-- Did we ever, before now?"  
  
"No," Dean stops Sam, then kisses him to make sure he stays quiet. He moves his leg in between Sam's and smiles at the way Sam presses his erection against him with a growl.  
  
This time when Sam slides his hands under Dean's shirt he lets him, steps back slightly, raises his hands to help get rid of it and lets Sam push Dean's shorts down too, mimics the movement by trailing the gun down Sam's chest, abs. Then they're both naked, almost pressed together but not quite and Dean's gun is low on Sam's abdomen. They look at each other and Sam digs his nails into Dean's sides as a warning when he trails the gun even lower. Maybe there's been enough playing for one night.  
  
Dean slides his gun hand around Sam's shoulders, around his neck, presses their bodies together and the kiss that was about to follow gets thwarted by their simultaneous groans at the feeling of another body pressed so close. Dean moves to get his thigh between Sam's again and this time it's so much better, they thrust against each other a few times out of any rhythm until Sam gets his hand on Dean's dick and Dean could swear the world grays at the edges for a moment.   
  
Sam starts to move his hand, the twist on the upstroke less a product of Sam's skill than the limited space, because no way is Dean stepping back now. It takes Dean some time to figure out he should be doing something too and he starts with licking a wet line up Sam's neck and biting down right under his ear. Sam tightens his hold at that and fuck, yes, like that. Dean keeps leaving bites all over Sam's neck until he's sure Sam's going to have marks tomorrow, switches the gun from one hand to the other behind Sam's back at the same time.  
  
When his right hand is free, Dean scratches a row of red lines down Sam's ribs, his side, then runs his fingers over the jut and then the groove of Sam's hip until he finally wraps his fingers around Sam's cock to return the favor.  
  
Sam's head makes a sound as it hits the wall and Dean takes the opportunity to kiss him again. It's messy and wet now, none of them coordinated enough to show any kind of skill anymore, but they keep trying for some time until they give up and Dean rests his forehead next to Sam's head.  
  
Dean comes first, thrusts into Sam's hand several times because he can't hold his hips still and then Sam's wet hot breath hits the side of his neck and it's over, he spills all over Sam and knows he probably makes more noise than he'd like to, but he can't stop himself.  
  
The next thing he knows, Sam's lips are on his temple, both hands on the small of his back trying to pull him closer.  
  
Dean starts back the rhythm he had going for Sam and turns his head, kisses Sam again. Sam makes cute growly sounds with every stroke Dean makes, his eyes closed again and Dean leans back a little just to watch him. What brings Sam over is the moment Dean slides the muzzle of the gun against the back of his neck again. He shudders impressively and comes all over Dean's hand, head thrown back as far as the wall allows it and lips parted. Dean muffles all the sounds he makes with another press of lips.   
  
It takes a few moments for Sam to return the kisses because Dean's awesome like that. This has now come to the part that Dean has no idea what to do about. The sex didn't in any way clear Dean's head up to where they're supposed to go from this new thing.  
  
"Ugh, shower?" Sam apparently does have an idea.  
  
"No objection here."  
  
Dean steps back, lets Sam turn and start for the bathroom, but Sam doesn't let go of his wrist and Dean has no choice but to follow. He can live with that.  
  
As he passes the table, Dean leaves his gun on it, safety switched on, just as it's been since the beginning of this.


	15. 15. Now I Am A Chemical, Sam/Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam has a book related problem and Castiel offers an unexpected kind of help.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for fic exchange prompt 'tentacles'

There has to be a level of dust that’s just plain unhealthy to be around- and if it exists, Sam’s met it and then some. The shower he had just half an hour ago doesn’t seem to have rinsed out all of it from his hair and he has a phantom itchiness everywhere.   
  
Sam can’t believe he used to love libraries. Granted, he can see the usefulness of an information repository, but this situation he’s in is becoming ridiculous. Dean’s fifty miles east, hunting a werewolf and Sam could be there, helping, killing things. Instead he’s stuck spending his days and nights at a dust filled library archive. The thing is- he knows the book he’s looking for has to be there, but it’s been four days and it’s becoming clearer and clearer that this search is a waste of time.  
  
Sam thinks of calling Dean and telling him this, telling him he’s putting a stop to choking on old dust and going to Dean to kill some damned wolves instead. He doesn’t though, because he knows what Dean will say- the same thing he said yesterday- the book is too important and Sam should do whatever Dean says for now.   
  
It’s not even that Sam disagrees about the book- going by the available descriptions and citations in other books of the same time period, it contains some thousand year old demonology and very likely a solution to his soul problem.  
  
Sam might want to get his soul back, but there has to be another, less boring way.  
  
He wants to call Castiel next, is already halfway into a prayer whispered under his breath, when he remembers Cas doesn’t come around when he calls, be it prayer or a phone call. That’s. He doesn’t like it, more so now than before he found out Dean’s more special than him as far as Cas is concerned.  
  
“Hello, Sam,” someone behind him says unexpectedly. Sam knows it’s Castiel, recognizes his voice and yet he has to force himself to not go for the knife as he turns around. Has to do that with a lot of people since he came back; he knows logically that no one is a threat but it doesn’t help against the reflex to make sure.  
  
“Oh, you actually came, didn’t even take another year.” Castiel is standing five feet away which is much too close for Sam; no one stands this close to him unless they’re about to get their ass kicked or are Dean.  
  
“What do you need?”  
  
“This book, we found references to it, but it doesn’t seem to be anywhere--”  
  
“It doesn’t exist.”  
  
“What do you mean doesn’t exist? It does, there are quotes from it in other texts. Wait, did you just read _my mind_?” That is not cool. Sam may have agreed to not lie to Dean, but his head is pretty much all he is right now and no one should be digging around it, not even if the guy’s already had his whole arm inside him.  
  
“Of Hell and Judgment? It’s never existed, a man made it up.”  
  
Castiel looks as moved by this as a wall and then he shifts slightly, as if he’s impatient or in a hurry. Yeah, that figures.   
  
“Why would someone reference a nonexistent book? That’s stupid.”  
  
“In middle ages that was sometimes necessary to stay alive. He lied about the book so that his new ideas would be seen as someone else’s and he wouldn’t be accused of heresy.”  
  
“Great. Glad to know my almost death by dust was not in vain. Thank you for telling me this before I spent several days and nights looking for it.”  
  
“You’re not happy,” Castiel says in an almost questioning tone, like it’s a goddamn surprising development. What’s surprising is that he’s still here, hasn’t left yet.  
  
“Hell yes I’m not happy! This guy, Sam with a soul, he used to pray to you, all but worshipped you even when you were as good as human. The first thing I did when I got back topside was call you. And then again, every time I didn’t understand what was wrong with me, and you never came. But all _Dean_ has to do is wave his hand and you come running. It’s almost like I’m angry- I _would_ be angry if I could.”  
  
Sam has to draw a couple of deep breaths. It’s almost pleasant to be this way, he can almost reach out and touch whatever it is that’s swirling inside his head and chest. Almost.   
  
Well, it was worth a try. It’s not like angering Dean’s pet angel will do him any real harm anyway. Fighting with Dean is so much easier now that Sam can’t actually get angry or hurt.  
  
“Jealous.”  
  
“What?”  
  
“Jealous, Sam. You’d be jealous. Anger looks colder than that.” That... makes no sense whatsoever. Besides, Sam wouldn’t be jealous, what would he even be jealous of?  
  
“You can see what I’d feel if I could feel things? While I don’t feel them?”  
  
“Yes. And you look like jealousy.”  
  
“How can you possibly do this when the part of me that has emotions is down in hell?” This is insane. What’s really irritating is that he thinks maybe he’d understand this if he was the real Sam, the complete Sam.  
  
“That is incorrect. Emotions are a somewhat physical thing. Multidimensional, complex and generated by your brain, not your soul.” Castiel looks interested, like this conversation is finally worthy of his time. Awesome, just what Sam needs, someone to explain to him in detail how he’s not working right. At least he can entertain Cas as good as Dean, maybe even better.  
  
“So why can’t I feel them? If a soul isn’t necessary? Why do I even need a soul, if my emotions are here anyway?”  
  
“It’s like a translation device. From chemicals and wavelengths to feelings. You can’t interpret them without a soul. I, on the other hand, am a multidimensional wavelength. Human emotions are a lot like what angels are made of.” It’s strange how excited Cas looks by this, Sam’s been around him enough to notice the way Cas is leaning slightly forward, the gleam in his eyes and the lack of uncomfortable tension in his human body.   
  
Sam takes a step back before he manages to stop himself and Cas’s mouth forms an almost imperceptible smile. Sam thinks he’d be freaked out right about now if he could. It’s the expression people have before carving something open to look at its parts. He doesn’t want to have another hand-to-chest examination anytime this eternity.  
  
“So you could what, hang around and tell me what I feel? That won’t help, I remember what I’m supposed to feel in most situations and it doesn’t change a thing. It’s just words.” Castiel all out smiles and Sam takes another shuffling half step back.  
  
“I could make you feel them, touch you with the parts of me that most resemble emotions.”   
  
“You’d feel me up angel style?”  
  
“It would be... more intrusive than that.”  
  
He walks toward Sam and Sam doesn’t even pretend anymore, he steps back until his back hits the wall because emotions or no emotions, he knows what pain is and he’d really rather not feel it. Castiel follows until less than half a foot is separating them. Sam wishes he had that knife that’s under his pillow right now, even if it wouldn’t help any.   
  
“Uh, you mean you’d put parts of you inside me again?”   
  
Cas tilts his head forward and slightly to the side as if he’s literally looking inside Sam’s mind and Sam kind of feels strange. He can’t figure out what’s wrong exactly, but he’s feeling something, something besides Cas’s warm breath on the side of his face. His breath smells like autumn, exactly like a breath that would taste of nothing but water.  
  
“Are you, ah, already doing it? Because, uh.” Castiel looks back into his eyes and this close it’s just as weird as staring inside his head.  
  
“Lust isn’t an emotion, Sam.”  
  
“Oh.” He doesn’t know what else he’s supposed to say. Castiel looks almost shiny in the light from the open window, getting shinier by the second, as he leans closer. Sam leans back, melts himself against the wall even though he doesn’t want to avoid this. Cas follows, crowds closer and kisses him, dry soft lips against Sam’s, warm palms flexing against his sides and, yeah, okay, Sam’s on board with an angelic feel-up if it’s actually, well, an angel feeling him up.  
  
Cas slides his hands down to his hips and his tongue inside Sam’s mouth and this isn’t doing anything for Sam’s emotions, but it’s definitely doing very much for him in other ways. Castiel doesn’t taste like water; when Sam tangles their tongues together, he tastes unnatural sweetness mixed with cold earth. He raises his hands to touch, pull Cas closer and Cas puts a hand on his shoulder blade and another slides down his back to his ass. And he still has his hands on Sam’s hips.  
  
Sam jerks back and opens his eyes.   
  
Cas is standing close, so very close, staring at him with his indecipherable expression again.  
  
His sides and back though. His coat, jacket and shirt are gone and there are these limbs, an explosion of uncountable tentacles coming out of his sides and back, more slowly stretching out, getting longer. They’re bright, multicoloured and shifting between colours like a chameleon sliding down a rainbow on fast forward. It’s a long, long way from the kind of fun Sam had in mind and it’s making him a bit dizzy. A dirty yellow one lands on Sam’s shoulder and ignores Sam’s attempt to shrug it off, creeps closer to his neck and slides down his back, under his shirt.  
  
“Uh.” His head hits the wall and he can’t breathe, there’s something inside his chest and lungs, squeezing, and all his muscles are straining to get closer to it. He wants to hit something but then doesn’t, the tension building and then just disappearing into an unfulfilling, bitter nothingness just to start over.  
  
“This one’s jealousy with a bit of everything else. Too strong?”  
  
Sam can’t answer, tries to nod before his lungs implode and knocks his head against the wall again. Cas seems to get it anyway and the feeling dies down. The tentacle keeps sliding down his back though, leaving a warm damp trail. Sam gasps for air several long moments; he doesn’t even flinch when Castiel’s hands are replaced by a couple of cool purple tentacles and Cas unbuttons and removes his shirt.  
  
“Sam?” he asks with his hands on Sam’s chest.  
  
“Give me a minute,” he says, leaning forward, face against Cas’s neck and still out of breath. He flexes and relaxes the muscles in his hands to make the strange ache go away.  
  
Cas doesn’t say any more, he starts moving his palms in slow circles on Sam’s chest and the purple tentacles sticking to his hips and waist start burning his skin slowly, circular suckers sticking to his skin and trying to become one with it. They make it seem like small bubbles are traveling all through his body and bursting into sparks in random places. Sam just really wants Cas to be closer now so he catches his belt loops, slides his fingers through them and pulls because he has no idea where else to put his hands.  
  
Cas comes willingly, presses against him and kisses him again, slowly as if he doesn’t have anywhere else to be and Sam doesn’t try to hurry him, even though he feels like he’s never wanted anything as much in his life. He’s just warm and kind of hungry in a good way. Sam frees his hands and proceeds to get Cas’s pants open in the limited space between them. He succeeds in brushing his hands against both their dicks, making them both groan at the same time. Cas’s hands flex almost painfully on his ribs and he kisses with that much more desperation.  
  
A vine wraps around Sam’s wrist, not restraining him, just carefully exploring the soft skin covering his veins, while another two fumble with his jeans just as awkwardly as he’d expect from fingerless limbs.  
  
He feels it like heat spilling inside him from where the yellow one is still attached to his back. It’s not as strong as before, Sam can feel the way something happens, the way the tiny sparkles inside start to sting. Cas is suddenly too far away and too slow and not enough, not ever enough. So Sam pulls him closer by his shoulders, but he can’t risk Cas stepping back, so he holds on, turns and pushes Cas against the wall where Sam was just moments ago.  
  
He slides his hands down past the waistband of Cas’s now open pants, grips his hips strong enough to leave bruises on anyone human. Cas tries to keep up with the way Sam kisses him now- as if he wants to own him- but Sam slams him against the wall again and he surrenders, lets Sam take and take and take.  
  
There are hands and other appendages sliding Sam’s jeans past his hips and down his legs. He holds on to Cas tighter and crushes them closer. He has to break the kiss as he can’t stop the growl this friction elicits from him.  
  
With all the other things he now feels, this physical thing is still overwhelming, makes him forget everything else for a moment. Forget the tentacles sliding over the backs of his thighs until they hug his leg, wrap around it and squeeze. Almost forgets the mix of things he hasn’t felt in forever slowly tearing him apart.   
  
He never forgets Cas though, his pale skin under Sam’s hands and mouth and his hand clutching at Sam’s hair, so pleasantly painful. Sam tries to bite the side of Cas’s neck, but he tugs at his hair, moves him around until their cheeks are touching, Cas’s breath hot against his skin again. He wants to fight, get back to the kissing part, but Cas holds him there, right where he can whisper into Sam’s ear.  
  
“You can do so much better than this, can’t you?” he says and Sam doesn’t know and doesn’t care what that means, he just wants Cas.  
  
One of Cas’s red appendages suddenly cuts into Sam’s shoulder blade with its hooks. Oh God, they have hooks that are sinking into Sam’s flesh, burning him and he tenses and arches back, but Cas is holding him close, muffling his scream with his lips.   
  
Sam feels cold all over, shivers and tries to fight the thing, all of them off. Cas just pulls him closer. Sam can’t,- they’re everywhere and he slaps them away, but the one around his wrist is slowing him down, but he keeps trying, getting more aggressive. And then Cas spins them around again and Sam’s pressed against the wall again, the hooks into his back digging deeper.  
  
It’s confusing, trying to both pull Cas towards him and fight the tentacles surrounding him.  
  
“Just like that, yes,” Cas says and he sounds so normal, it makes Sam want to steal his breath away. He presses their lips together again and hits Cas’s shoulder at the same time. Sam tries to win this battle again, can’t not fight it, but Cas distracts him by putting his hand on Sam’s dick finally, finally.  
  
Sam thrusts forward without any kind of rhythm and Cas presses against him, aligns their hips so that Sam can feel he’s just as hard. Everything is slightly red-tinged around the edges and Sam tries to tug another tentacle away from himself, digs his nails into it. He doesn’t even know why, but he can’t just stop and let them, he has to fight them and it’s awesome. He almost feels like laughing, but then Cas grips him tighter and starts stroking faster and all Sam can do is groan and let his head drop against the wall.  
  
Cas uses the moment to press kisses into his neck. “You’ve always been so good with anger. Beautiful,” he whispers against Sam’s jaw in a rough voice. Sam gasps, tries to hit Cas’s shoulder again, but the tentacle around his wrist slows him down so much that he ends up just laying his palm on Cas’s arm. Sam presses is nails into his skin instead, just to spite it.  
  
Just as Sam relaxes his hold on one of the appendages, another one sinks it’s razor-sharp hooks into Sam’s side and he shudders, cries out this time. Cas ignores Sam’s attempts to get free, keeps stroking him and Sam can’t distinguish between the pain and the pleasure anymore.   
  
There are shadows, black things creeping closer and Sam wants to get away, tries to both curl in on himself and thrust against Cas and it’s the most ineffective movement in the world.   
  
Cas puts a hand on his thigh, back of his knee and lifts up. Sam’s only halfway paying attention, but he knows this, knows what it means. He wraps his legs around Cas’s waist and Cas can hold _him_ up against a wall. It’s incredible and Sam kisses his neck, bites down and the black tentacles around his thigh cut into the tender skin on the inside of it and it hurts like acid being poured into his veins.  
  
The black forms come closer, just like Cas’s spare limbs and they’re going to consume Sam, hurt him and kill him and he can’t get away at all. He pulls on Cas’s shoulders and tries to use him as a shield, but the things find him, they always do. He flinches away from every touch that isn’t Cas’s real hands and real skin, whimpers and shudders as the things slide all over him like snakes leaving small circular bruises everywhere.  
  
He can’t really see anything anymore, everything is dark. Sam tries to become smaller, closes his eyes against the darkness and helplessly flinches away from the blades into his side. His breaths are shallow, too shallow, but he can’t force himself to change them.  
  
Cas is touching him and Sam can’t get enough air to think, his brain feels like it’s shutting down and he wants it to, wants to hide and disappear. But Cas is right here and Sam desperately wants to not let go of him. He tries to struggle and hold on to the reality, his consciousness even though he’s shivering, uselessly gasping for air, but it’s slipping away.  
  
“Sam?” It takes him several moments to come back to himself, to realize all the feelings are weaker, almost nonexistent again. Cas has stopped stroking him and is rubbing with his thumb Sam’s inner thigh where the hooks were cutting into him just moments ago. He opens his eyes and looks at Cas. The sight of his extra appendages now makes Sam shudder.  
  
“No. Yes. I can’t,--” There’s nothing coherent about Sam, but Cas doesn’t look surprised, keeps touching him until Sam can breathe and think again. He looks down and there’s no blood, nothing to suggest tentacles were just cutting him up. The same ones that are still hugging Sam’s thigh.  
  
It’s strange, the way they’re not doing anything, just staring at each other. Sam’s almost calm and he can feel the immediate need to get off again. Cas keeps staring at him with inhumanly shiny eyes and thrusts his dick against the crease of Sam’s thigh and they’re back to this part that Sam can understand anytime.  
  
Cas leans in and licks Sam’s lip once, twice and then just kisses him, in no rush again. Sam wraps his hand around both their dicks at the same time and starts back a rhythm while Cas just holds him up, holy hell, holds Sam up against a wall.  
  
Sam feels several of the tentacles wrapping around his ankles behind Cas’s back and he just keeps going, tries to get them both off before he gets distracted again.  
  
Cas lets go of one of Sam’s thighs and joins Sam, they lace their fingers together and it gets better, so much better. Sam has to break the kiss to breathe, he knows he’s close so close and there’s a strange pressure building in his chest that’s turning the pleasure up another notch.  
  
He just, this is it, a couple more strokes and he comes all over their hands. All the stray feelings and tension drain out of him within moments and he’s frozen in silence. The pressure inside his chest bursts, too much like another orgasm, and Sam almost sobs in relief.  
  
Cas keeps stroking himself with both their hands, Sam tries to help, but all he can do is let himself be moved around. It takes several moments, long enough for Sam to regain some of his senses, before Cas comes too. Sam feels more warm liquid spill over their fingers and all the extra limbs contract around him.  
  
Cas slumps against him, crushes Sam against the wall and they stay that way for some time. Sam half wants to ask Cas to move already, but he can’t stop watching with fascination as the tentacles retreat and disappear back into him one by one.  
  
Finally, Sam pushes against Cas’s shoulder weakly and Cas leans back, helps Sam back to standing himself. He steps back but keeps his hands on Sam’s waist while he gets some feeling back into his feet.  
  
His hands are warm. Sam thinks he kind of likes that.


	16. 16. Heaven Is As Heaven Does, Jo/Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Last night on earth sounds like a good excuse to proposition an angel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'painplay(other)'

Jo’s ready to go to sleep, she’s cleaned up all the empty bottles and needs some sleep before tomorrow comes and they face the devil. Everyone else has already gone to dreamland, or so she thinks.  
  
She enters the room where she plans to sleep on the mattress someone dragged out for her because she’s a girl and needs some comfort and because she threatened to hurt them if they wouldn’t. It’s dark and Jo puts a lot of effort into not screaming or doing something else girly like that when a shadow standing by the window startles her.  
  
“Castiel?” she asks, because the form is very distinctive, no one else wears anything like that coat of his.  
  
He turns to face her, his face impassive as always, but Jo thinks he looks sad and lost all the time. She wonders why no one else notices, doesn’t try to cheer him up.  
  
“Hey,” she says quietly, trying to sound friendly; how often do you get a chance to make nice with an angel? “What are you doing here?”  
  
“Joanna. I… was waiting for the morning to come,” he says and moves so minutely she almost misses it, but it looks like an aborted shuffle. “I will go do so somewhere else.” He glances down at her bed for the night and then looks away, keeps standing there as if he needs her permission to leave.  
  
Jo feels like she’s about to do something monumentally stupid, but she’s drunk some and already had one ‘last night on earth’ proposition tonight and a story of a brothel visit to put the idea in her head.  
  
“You can stay here,” she says, a half whisper again, and steps closer, keeps going until she’s almost touching him.  
  
He tilts his head as if she’s asked some hard question and Jo just keeps looking him in the eyes, hoping he’ll get it without her spelling everything out. He’s supposed to be able to read minds.  
  
“I,” he begins and pauses as if looking for words, “will stay then.” He says it like a question and it’s so adorable Jo barely holds back a wide smile.  
  
“Good,” she instead declares and puts her hands on his shoulders, reaches up and kisses him firmly. She’s not sure what she expected, but he seems completely human like this. He kisses back slowly, still as a question and lets her slide the coat and jacket off his shoulders and to the ground.  
  
Jo breaks the kiss for a moment to look at his face; his eyes are closed and there’s a frown on his face, like maybe he’s frustrated or something. Jo wants to draw back, ask what’s wrong, but then he leans down and kisses her again, more insistently than before.  
  
That’s about when it stops being all human like. He puts his hands on her hips, the hold strong as a vice and pulls her closer and then pushes her away again, follows her towards the mattress all the while turning the kiss fiercer and stronger to the border of pain. Jo pushes at him, tries to hit his shoulders and make him stop when it starts to hurt, but he doesn’t even notice.  
  
He pushes her down, falls with her and all the air is knocked out of her as they land, stopping her struggles for a moment.  
  
Then it turns out their lip lock wasn’t broken by the fall and he’s still kissing her like he wants to pull her soul through her mouth and she digs her nails into the soft part of his shoulders as strong as she can, not concerned of hurting him anymore as it’s starting to scare her.  
  
He lets go of her lips then and moans into her neck and it’s the most pornographic sound Jo’s ever heard. It’s so heartfelt as if she’s managed to give him five blowjobs at the same time.  
  
Jo lies there and tries to think, figure out what’s going on and how this is going to go while Castiel breathes ragged breaths into her skin for several moments. He starts to run his hands up, under her shirt, fingers pressing into her flesh too hard.  
  
She grunts in discomfort and presses her nails into his shoulder again and he shudders, thrusts his hips against hers and squeezes her harder in return. It makes Jo wince in pain, but she tries to press her nails into his skin again experimentally, and yes, he whimpers and tries to press back, make her hurt him more.   
  
That’s how it is.  
  
“Castiel?” she asks and hopes he can still be reasoned with. It takes a moment, but he props himself up on one hand and looks at her questioningly.  
  
“I can do that, touch you like that, ok?” she whispers, “But you can’t do the same to me, I’m not like you, I’m going to break if you do that.”  
  
He nods and keeps looking at her, moves the hand still on her waist slowly, skin moving against skin without the edge of pain now. Jo digs her nails into his side, tries not to hold back, reminds herself he can heal anything she can inflict on him. He leans into her hand, his eyes close and his mouth falls open.  
  
They kiss again and he goes easy now and she can feel how it’s a struggle to keep back so she bites him, bites his lip strong enough to draw blood and he heals almost instantly, but she likes this, likes someone that _she_ doesn’t have to go easy on.  
  
She urges him to shed his clothes, fumbles out of her own and there’s so much skin to hurt, all just for her.   
  
It’s not that hard to let go and drag her nails down his chest just to see red lines disappear, sink her teeth into his skin and feel him almost come apart.  
  
She finishes him off with a grip way too hard to be bearable never mind pleasurable for any normal man, mostly because she’s not letting someone with super strength and no concept of human pain anywhere near inside her.   
  
He muffles his shout against her chest and Jo doesn’t even say anything when he accidentally bites her hard enough to leave a bright mark.  
  
“I’ll show you what I like, now,” she whispers to him when she thinks he should be able to think again and feels him smile against her breast.  
  
She wakes up with an array of bruises all over her just the same, but boy, do last nights on earth rock.


	17. 17. A Little Closer + Where Stars Do Drown, Sam/Lucifer

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sam's subconsciousness is weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first part written for kink bingo 'oral fixation'

Sam hates the devil. There are so many reasons he could write an essay, scratch that, he could write a book about them.  
  
One of the more recent reasons is the fact he won’t leave him alone even after being locked away in hell. He’s just there in his dreams every time he sleeps.  
  
At first Sam thinks they’re nightmares reminding him of the terror he constantly felt in the end, before he said yes. It’s just that the terror part is missing. It’s just Lucifer sitting around whatever venue Sam dreams about and talking to him, asking questions, sometimes sitting silent. On one memorable occasion Sam spends all night dreaming about Lucifer screaming and raging in the middle of a children’s playground.  
  
Another reason Sam hates him is because Lucifer makes him think strange thoughts; even if it’s not exactly his fault.  
  
Sam totally blames him for his new dream companion and for the way Sam gets used to him enough to start noticing things- like the way his lips quirk when the dream is a sunny day or when it’s a star filled night sky. The way his mouth is a thin line every time Sam dreams about the panic room or Ruby and the way he outright smiles when Sam dreams of Dean killing Zachariah- Sam notices all that now.  
  
He wakes every morning resenting his own mind more and more, but he can’t do anything about it, he keeps thinking of Lucifer’s beautiful lips and it’s so damn wrong he can’t even find anything else as wrong to compare it to.  
  
Lucifer is healthy in his dreams, no signs of burning out on Nick’s body. It makes it easier to ignore the voice in his head telling him to snap out of it the next time Sam dreams of being in the woods and Lucifer starts telling about the Garden of Eden. He smiles and his mouth moves to form all kinds of words and Sam hears none of them, just watches and possibly smiles himself.  
  
Sam spends the next day between happiness, worry for his own mental health and wonder where he might have read the things dream Lucifer told him.  
  
As soon as Sam falls asleep, he knows this will be a bad dream. He’s sitting on the cot in the panic room and the doors are closed. It gets worse when he notices Lucifer.  
  
He looks like a storm cloud, close to the way he looked in that playground. He steps closer to Sam and his hands clench into fists where Sam can see it.  
  
“You’re useless, you and your whole race,” he begins and Sam’s angry too, because he doesn’t need this now. “Look at you, what is the purpose of your existence? You’re just a junkie that should have died years ago.” Sam knows he’s just venting, that the anger isn’t really aimed at him; the previous time the rant had started similarly and ended up including the stupidity of the entire heavenly host, pineapples and saltwater fish as well as the levels of offense the devil takes at sparkly star shaped stickers. Sam always thought he liked pineapple, but apparently his head doesn’t agree.  
  
It still annoys him something fierce tonight. He knows all this; he doesn’t need his subconscious to repeat it to him again, especially if it’s set on taking the form of Lucifer.  
  
Sam’s stuck on staring at Lucifer’s mouth as he goes on, “The one thing you could have done right? Exterminate your filthy kind? You messed up even that. Do you ever do anything right, Sam?”  
  
Sam’s on his feet, moving closer, crowding Lucifer against the wall.  
  
“Shut up,” he shouts pushing at Lucifer’s shoulders, shaking him, “shut the hell up, just stop talking.” Lucifer is quiet for a moment and Sam sees him draw a breath to argue, sees it because he’s staring at his lips again, and he leans in and kisses the devil to silence him. He feels hands settle on his waist lightly for a moment and then start to tug him closer and he goes. Sam tastes Lucifer’s lips, slides his hands around his neck and into his hair and presses his tongue further, into his mouth and its _cold_.  
  
Lucifer’s breath is freezing cold in Sam’s dream, too cold.  
  
He stills completely, stops moving and his mind is a tangle of panicked half thoughts. This, this is all real, the Lucifer in his dreams, however he got there, is the real deal.  
  
And Sam’s _kissing_ him.

\---

 

Lucifer’s breath is cold and he doesn’t stop kissing Sam, who has frozen in panic. As his hands land on Sam’s jaw carefully, like he’s holding back from accidentally breaking him, Sam finally pulls back. He looks at Lucifer in horror as the world, the dream world around them collapses into a black abyss, the walls of the panic room crumble and disappear leaving only a black nothingness all around them.  
  
„I did not expect you to do that,” is all Lucifer says. In a calm voice, as if this isn’t anything important.  
  
„How did you get out of the cage?” Sam asks, because that’s what he has to ask, needs to know. They locked him up, did everything right, how did...  
  
„I didn’t.”   
  
Sam wants to wake up now. Really really just wants to wake up now. His blunt fingernails dig into his palms, but nothing happens. He takes two stumbling steps back from the devil and barely keeps from falling on the ground. Only there is no more ground and he has no idea what’s keeping him from falling down through where it used to be.  
  
“I want to wake up now, let me wake up,” he says and can hear both the accusation and the panic in his own voice.  
  
“Fall asleep, Sam. And I wish you did too, this,” he waves his hand around, “scenery gets very old after the first hundred years.”  
  
“No,” Sam says, because, no, he can’t process this, “no no no no--”  
  
Lucifer takes two steps towards him and slides his palm up Sam’s neck, presses two fingers to Sam’s forehead and everything, or nothing as it is, disappears in a swirl.  
  
Sam wakes up with a start. He’s alone in his motel room. Everything’s the same as he remembers, but as he gets up and starts dressing hastily, he thinks maybe the world’s a little too bright all around him.  
  
He checks out as soon as he can and drives away. There’s a witch a hundred miles away and Sam wants to ask her a favor.  
  
After he gets there and buys all the herbs and crystals, wouldn’t Dean call him girly for this, he needs more ingredients, so he drives on.  
  
All around him the world goes on as it always has, everything works and looks real, looks not destroyed. He keeps expecting everything to gray around the edges and burn away like overheated film, but nothing happens.  
  
That night as he falls asleep exhausted from the constant alertness, Sam dreams of a coffee shop back at Stanford. He’s sitting at one of the tables alone and Lucifer is looking very comfortable in a chair at the next one. He stays silent, doesn’t even look at Sam, so Sam ignores him in return. He sits and drinks his latte and doesn’t ask anything, only maybe watches Lucifer’s mouth as he drinks his own beverage reflected in a window. Maybe. If he’s going insane he’ll prove one way or the other in a couple of days himself.  
  
The next day is spent calling hunters, calling witches and anyone he can get a hold of that could have access to the things he needs. It doesn’t help that most of them, most notably blood of a possessed newborn and goddamn impossible heart of a dryad, aren’t often used in anything but evil summoning rituals or death spells. Sam doesn’t have a real choice; it’s not as if he has a lock of the devil’s hair.   
  
Though, now that he thinks of it, maybe someone has access to that.  
  
  
  
He dreams of a library, Lucifer sitting just a couple of desks away again. People keep quietly walking around with books and acting like normal people do in libraries. While Sam can keep away from interacting with Lucifer, he can’t keep his own thoughts quiet. It’s too real, everything in the dream. It has no unexpected jumps, illogical or impossible places; it’s nothing like a dream should be. Panic slowly creeps in as Sam tries to remember when he last had a regular dream and can’t. When he looks up the devil is watching him with unconcealed curiosity.  
  
He wakes up feeling cold and alarmed and it doesn’t go away for the rest of the day. Sam’s not sure if that’s a good enough excuse for what he resorts to, but he keeps telling himself he has to.  
  
The demon he traps is all too willing to possess a newborn that Sam actually kidnapped from the hospital earlier that morning. It only takes a few drops of blood and then the demon flees to freedom as per their agreement.   
  
Delivering the baby back to the hospital is hard with all the police officers all over the place and the loud crying, but he manages, has to. He can’t be that person, no matter what else is wrong. Even if nothing is real, he isn’t that man anymore.  
  
The vial of demon blood in his bag keeps taunting him until all he runs on is fear and desperation. Of all the things important to Sam, the truth has lately become the most significant.  
  
It’s just the things he has to do get to it.  
  
When he gets into the motel room for the night, he takes one look at the bed and breaks out in cold sweat. He ends up sitting in a chair all night, researching dryads and drinking coffee, trying not to think of the blood sitting just a few feet away in his bag. Then he rubs his eyes to try and erase the image of Lucifer drinking coffee in that dream. His hands holding the cup, no, Sam has to stop, has to concentrate.   
  
The morning finds him slumped over the table, asleep, but he doesn’t remember any dreams so it’s ok.  
  
He’s woken by a call from someone with a dryad heart.  
  
It takes another day to drive to the woman. She turns out to be very happy to get rid of the internal organ of a tree spirit. She also looks wary and keeps looking around at every sound, so Sam doesn’t ask how she acquired it.  
  
After a stop at a bookstore for maps, Sam is all set. He knows he has to sleep before he does any complicated magic. He also knows nothing bad has happened so far to him in dreams, except kissing the devil, but it doesn’t help.  
  
In the end he falls asleep watching old commercials on the TV. When he wakes up, he can’t remember what he dreamed about or if he dreamed at all. Sam feels rested though, so he starts arranging all the things he’s gathered.  
  
The spell is complicated, the rare ingredients aside. Sam needs four tries until he can pronounce it right. On the state map he has laid out before him, a red point glows over the town he is in, then disappears after half a minute.  
  
Sam swallows, takes the local map out and prepares everything again. Because he is free, he is himself, this is the only thing he knows for sure anymore. There is no one but him inside his head. The second thing he thinks of is that Lucifer lied. He said he didn’t escape the cage. He said he wouldn’t lie and he did. Liar.  
  
Unless of course he never went in there in the first place and this is all just a game to him, all this fucking with Sam’s head. He’s still a filthy liar, because he said he wouldn’t deceive Sam and Sam believed him and he lied.  
  
The second try makes another glowing dot appear. It’s not where Sam is, is the first thing he notices and breathes easy for just a moment. Where the devil is though, is a park across the town.  
  
It takes Sam longer than it should to pack everything away. It’s not even important if Lucifer is really there, but he keeps stalling.  
  
Sam finds Lucifer sitting on a park bench, watching people feed ducks at a nearby pond. His step falters, he wonders if maybe the better choice would be to run and never look back.  
  
“Hello, Sam,” the devil says without turning back and Sam remembers running would be pointless. He approaches slowly, sits down as far from Lucifer as the bench allows him, which is still less than an arms-length away.  
  
“You found me,” Lucifer states the obvious still not looking at Sam.  
  
“You lied to me,” Sam counters. He’s so tired so very tired of being betrayed, of something he believes in turning out to be lies. He wanted this one being to not be like everyone else. To at least once not be the fool in the end.  
  
“No, I didn’t,” he denies and Sam sees him frown and finally turn to look at Sam. “I have never lied to you.”  
  
“Right, so what does the world really look like? What did you do with it?” Sam asks and he can not keep the anger nor the hurt out of his voice. What difference does it make now, anyway?  
  
Lucifer smiles a sad smile that looks out of place on him.  
  
“I have done nothing to the world; it is just as it was.” Sam wants to call him a filthy liar to his face, opens his mouth to do so, because he knows, _knows_ something is wrong with everything, but then the devil goes on in a more quiet voice, “Just _where_ it was, too.”  
  
Sam is confused and then speechless. That can not be the truth. This, this is the world, his world, no matter whatever illusion Lucifer has spun over it.  
  
“No. That’s not true. This, I am out of there, I’m not there anymore. This is real.”  
  
“You have a remarkably good memory,” Lucifer says and studies the people with kids at the pond. “For a human,” he amends.  
  
“No. See, I saw Dean, Dean is here, he’s where he promised he’d be so this can not be hell.”  
  
“Could you ever imagine a world without your brother in it?”  
  
That silences Sam because it’s the truth. Still, this does not make sense to him, he does not want this to make sense.  
  
“This is not how hell is supposed to look,” he says after a long pause.  
  
“No.” Lucifer smiles again, this time a real smile. “But then, we’re not exactly in _hell_. And this place would look very different without your human imagination.”  
  
Sam wonders if the devil’s trying to make him believe all it takes to change hell is good imagination. Then he remembers the night he kissed Lucifer.  
  
“Like that black… thing?” Lucifer just nods. “So, what, this is a world I created? A whole world?” That’s inconceivable, too big for Sam.  
  
“More or less. When you convince yourself it’s a dream, it becomes a much smaller space. Still I prefer your version to the real one. It’s more peaceful.”  
  
“Thanks, I guess.”  
  
They sit in silence watching the park and Sam can’t wrap his head around this all being made out of his mind. But it’s better than what he thought, has to be better than the world being destroyed by the man beside him.  
  
Sam doesn’t know how much time passes, but one moment everything is still and the next Lucifer is reaching for him, tangling his fingers into Sam’s hair. He shifts closer leans over Sam and they’re kissing for the second time. The world doesn’t collapse this time, but it might as well.  
  
Lucifer is cold but so very insistent, exploring Sam’s mouth as if he wants to memorize it. This time Sam lets it happen, moans when their tongues slide together and kisses back just as passionately.   
  
He can’t deny he wants this, he was the one who started it no matter the circumstances. He still wants it after knowing the truth and whatever that makes him. Sam puts his hands around the devils shoulders and pulls him closer.  
  
Lucifer’s hand slides up Sam’s shirt, over heated skin, he’s one shift away from straddling Sam despite the public place. Suddenly it comes to Sam that this is it, this is the only real thing he can feel, the only real thing he will ever have from now on.  
  
He pushes Lucifer away like he’s been burned and stands up hastily, turns and just leaves. He walks as fast as he can and knows there has to be a way out. Maybe he just dreamed it before, but it has to exist for real and Sam will find it. He has to.  
  
He’s almost disappointed Lucifer doesn’t try to stop him. He finds out why later.  
  
  
Now that Sam knows what this is, Lucifer makes no effort to pretend like he isn’t there. He shows up wherever Sam goes and while he doesn’t say anything, Sam can’t ignore him completely, can’t think with Lucifer’s eyes constantly on him.  
  
Sam goes to libraries, reads everything he can find and hopes. It seems pointless, when he thinks about it; Lucifer told him this was all a dream in Sam’s head. But then he said Sam had good memory and if this is all a part of just that, then maybe Sam’s read something in his life that held an answer to how to get out. He just didn’t notice at the time and now he’ll look everywhere until he finds it.  
  
He hopes he will anyway, hopes it will happen before he goes mad.  
  
When he dreams of the same library for the third night in a row in addition to visiting it when awake, Lucifer stops being just a vast presence at the edge of everything.  
  
He does it with a bang too. Sam’s sitting and reading, cross referencing two books when there’s a loud crack. He looks up just in time to see Lucifer literally throw a table; it crashes into a wall loudly right next to the chair that was apparently the first to die.  
  
People are screaming and running for exits. Sam just sits frozen in place and watches with morbid fascination as the devil sets fire to a bookshelf and crashes another one.  
  
“You won’t find anything here,” Lucifer says in a voice seeping anger like it’s a real, touchable thing. “This is the most pointless thing you have ever done,” he says and Sam’s never noticed that anyone can look that frustrated and angry. There is fire crackling and happily eating up old books behind Lucifer and illuminated by firelight he really looks as a devil should.  
  
“I have to keep looking,” he answers numbly. He doesn’t have anything else, can’t do anything else now that he knows everything is a lie.  
  
“You could just live it; your own perfect world, isn’t that what you all want?”  
  
“It’s not real. It’s not a world, it’s nothing.” He can’t believe he’s explaining to Lucifer why he wants out of this place. The same Lucifer that staged Sam’s whole life, his family’s whole lives just to get to a point where he would be released from here.  
  
“What is up there that you miss so much?” Lucifer asks quietly, his back turned to Sam now. He’s strangely still seeing as he was throwing furniture around just a minute ago.  
  
Sam can’t answer, his throat feels dry as he thinks of Dean, of Bobby and Castiel and everyone he’s met even just in passing. All the things he didn’t manage to see, to do. And Dean, Dean alone up there probably doing some stupid shit no matter what he made him promise. He is too late to keep the sob quiet, closes his eyes to pretend he’s alone at least.  
  
There are hands in his hair; Lucifer’s tilting his head up and pressing frantic kisses all over his face, as if trying to prove something. Sam doesn’t resist, lets it happen as he feels himself slide away.   
  
He wakes up before the kiss even ends. Somehow being told he can’t do something has always motivated Sam to excel at it. Today though, he just rolls over on his side and curls in as small a ball as he can and stays the rest of the day under the covers. It’s not like he has to be anywhere.  
  
He sees Lucifer next several days later in another dream. They’re sitting on another bench looking at the ocean. Sam considers getting up and just walking away, but he’s mesmerized by the ocean and doesn’t want to move. It’s his dream and he’s tired of running.  
  
“There is a way,” he hears a hesitant voice beside him. Sam’s head snaps around and he stares at Lucifer’s blank expression with disbelief. He wants to ask how, demand that the devil tell him, but he continues on his own. “It can only be used by one of us. And if you leave, I’ll stay here without an ocean,” he says and Sam can hear the _I’ll stay alone_ in it loud and clear.  
  
“I said yes. Before, I said yes, so aren’t we technically one right now?” He’ll do anything, anything to get out, apparently even that. What does that matter if Lucifer knows a way out anyway.  
  
“This isn’t a physical plane, Sam,” Lucifer says with a smile that makes Sam feel like a stupid kid. “Physical bodies don’t mean anything here. Only one of us can go.”  
  
Sam stays silent and furiously trying to think of anything that would make Lucifer tell him how. He’s pretty sure he’s not above begging or even making deals.  
  
This time Sam is the one to kiss Lucifer, so it is fitting that Lucifer is the one who pushes him away after a long minute. His hands stay on Sam’s chest and he turns his head away to look at the ocean again. They sit in silence a very long time until everything starts to blur and Sam knows he’ll wake up in another minute.  
  
Lucifer turns to kiss him then and presses his fingers to Sam’s forehead once again. Sam thinks he sees Lucifer expand like a bright shining star as the ocean and the entire world crumbles, right before everything goes black.  
  
Sam doesn’t wake up, he feels like he’s drowning, deep underwater somewhere and unable to think. When he opens his eyes the world feels warmer. He’s also not where he remembers falling asleep.  
  
It takes him no time at all to meet up with Dean. He can’t, won’t explain how he got out, pretends he doesn’t remember. Life is good after he spends a month checking in every possible way if this is it, if this is him out of the cage and not just another illusion.  
  
It only takes another month until Sam successfully drugs his own brother and leaves him in their hotel room. He’s standing in a cemetery with a set of rings and a spell book in his hands. Sam takes a breath knowing full well that he’s about to make the biggest, most phenomenal mistake of his life. Again, and this time on purpose.  
  
It’s just, he needs to ask Lucifer _why_... why he didn’t just leave _Sam_ alone in the cage.


	18. 18. Years Of Bad Decisions, Jo/Ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> They never speak of this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'spanking/paddling'

It’s not something that they do, not really. Jo doesn’t sleep with demons, does nothing but exorcize concerning demons. But the fact remains she’s pushing a demon into her room and locking the door behind them.  
  
Ruby undresses and watches Jo’s face with a suggestive grin all the while. When she’s naked, she comes forward and helps Jo strip as well. No matter how many times they come together like this, Jo still feels wrong doing it. She does at first, anyway.  
  
Ruby kisses her and their fingers get tangled in each others hair and their breasts are touching and this is almost when she decides to go with it every time. She starts earlier today.  
  
Jo pushes Ruby on the bed, pushes her thighs apart and falls in between them.  
  
“You are a bad bad girl,” Ruby says breathlessly, as if it’s an endearment. Jo doesn’t answer, just gets on with what she’s doing, and twists as much pleasure out of the body underneath her with her hands and lips and tongue and teeth as she can.  
  
It doesn’t take long until Ruby’s borrowed body shudders and relaxes underneath her, Ruby’s hands clutch her hair tightly, then relax.  
  
Jo just keeps going, doesn’t stop until it happens again and not even then, even though she knows it must be painful by now. Ruby finally pulls at her hair so strong Jo has no choice but to back off.  
  
“Bad girl,” Ruby mutters and pulls at Jo until she falls to the side. Jo runs her hands down her own body, because it looks like Ruby’s in no shape to help her out.  
  
“Stop,” is a sharp command and Jo doesn’t even think before obeying. “Turn over,” Ruby tells her and she complies. She can feel Ruby sitting up next to her, moving on the bed.  
  
The first hit is sharp and more a surprise than force, but it probably still leaves a red mark on Jo’s ass. Jo yelps and Ruby smacks her again.  
  
It’s not the pain but the fact she shouldn’t be letting this happen that makes her want to object, but she still presses into the touch when Ruby runs her hand softly over the red skin.  
  
“Get up, on your hands and knees,” Ruby whispers. Jo pauses for a moment, but then complies again. She shuffles on the bed, the sheets brushing roughly against her skin.  
  
When she’s up the way Ruby asked, there’s another sharp slap, then another and another and they _hurt_.  
  
The skin on Jo’s ass is stinging, getting hot and Ruby doesn’t stop, keeps spanking her and Jo feels wetness sliding down her thighs.  
  
Ruby stops some time later and runs her palms over the abused skin and blows on it and it quells the sting only for a moment and then the ache is back.  
  
“You _are_ a bad girl, aren’t you?” Ruby says as she slips her hand between Jo’s legs and spreads the wetness there all over her inner thigh.  
  
Jo blinks and notices the wetness on her face; it’s probably not just sweat, tears too.  
  
Ruby does something amazing with her fingers and Jo moans, pushes back and Ruby repeats the movement and then another slap connects with her ass, it feels stronger than before, but it’s probably because of the way she’s already oversensitive.  
  
The blows keep coming and now there are definitely tears sliding down Jo’s cheeks and she loves this, loves every minute of this.  
  
When it’s over and she collapses on the bed, she smiles because she knows they won’t speak of this again. Right up until next time.


	19. 19. Therefore I Am, Dean/Crowley

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It's totally not Dean's fault that his night gets to this.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'orgasm denial/control'

It’s not really easy to explain how he got into this situation. It started something like this: Dean was peacefully drinking his beer in a bar, minding no one’s business, maybe flirting with a hot brunette. Suddenly out of nowhere came Crowley and fucked up his conversation with the girl with the words, “We have some things to discuss, sweetheart, why don’t we step out for a second?”   
  
It wasn’t really a question, so Dean had to go have an important talk, and it looked like coming back would be pointless what with the knowing look the girl threw the both of them as they were going out the door.  
  
So, outside in the far side of the parking lot Crowley relayed his stupid important information and Dean took notice. That’s it, done, finished.   
  
Dean tried to drive away and the demon assaulted him.  
  
Okay, maybe there was a part in between where Dean clutched Crowley’s jacket, pushed him against the car and threatened him with the words, “You listen, you sonofabitch, if you screw with me, I’ll find you in hell myself and show you all the meanings of the word fucked. Are we clear?”   
  
Yeah, looking back, maybe he could have chosen his words better.  
  
  
  
“Oh, yes, we’re perfectly clear,” Crowley drawls now, puts his hands on Dean’s waist and in a sharp inhumanly strong move turns them around so that Dean’s the one pressed up against a car. Dean’s confused, which means he’s about to get angry real soon. Then Crowley presses closer and thrusts their hips together and Dean is roughly reminded of how he’s been half hard ever since that girl at the bar leaned down in a way that revealed her breasts nicely.  
  
This is where he is now.  
  
He’d like to say he resists, but really, all he does is groan and lean his head back and that’s probably what prompts the lips and tongue and teeth that start exploring his neck roughly. This is not how he expected his evening to end.  
  
Crowley keeps attacking his neck until Dean is desperate enough to respond, tug at his hips to get him closer. Then they’re kissing and it’s not half bad, actually it’s pretty fucking awesome. Probably because Crowley’s got so much experience with kisses, but the things he can do with his tongue, _fuck_.  
  
Dean tries to pry Crowley’s shirt open, in for a penny in for a pound or whatever, but his hands get knocked away and his own shirt unbuttoned instead. The next are his jeans and then Crowley is falling down to his knees, hands on the waistband of his pants. He slides Deans jeans and boxers down to his knees and takes him into his mouth, no hesitation.  
  
Dean moans like a girl in a porn movie, can’t stop because apparently kissing isn’t the only thing the demon is good at. Fuck, yes, his night is so, so good.  
  
Crowley bobs his head up and down and rakes his nails up the inside of Dean’s thighs. There’s something wet and slick pressing at his ass and Dean doesn’t even get what’s going on at first with how hard his mind is being blown. Then there’s a lubed finger sliding up inside him and he squirms, but doesn’t do anything just clutch at Crowley’s hair tighter.  
  
It feels strange as hell, but Dean’s not going to let whatever Crowley’s planning happen; he’s just going to tell him to stop later, not now. He just needs to come and he’s putting an end to whatever. Where the hell did he get the lube anyway?  
  
Crowley keeps blowing him but he keeps up the fingerfucking, gets two fingers inside and makes Dean see stars, well, more than he already does.  
  
Another twist of fingers, a slide of tongue and Dean’s fucking _gone_ \-- only he’s not, because Crowley’s mouth and fingers are gone and he’s squeezing Dean’s dick just right to keep him from getting off.  
  
Then he gets up and steps back away and looks at Dean with a smirk that gets wider when Dean tries to moves his hands to finish himself off and finds that he can’t, they’re demon magicked to his sides.  
  
“So, no screwing with you? Did I get that right?” he asks and Dean’s so frustrated he wants to scream. He tries to move again, but it’s pointless and he just wants more.  
  
“No,” he says and looks away, because fuck. _Fuck_. This is so very much not how he thought his night would go.  
  
Crowley doesn’t react though, so after a moment Dean speaks again, “No, you can screw with me all you want,” he says, still not looking at the demon. “Please,” he tacks on and then there are lips on his and hands all over him and _yeah_.


	20. 20. My Body Is, Sam/Ruby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The things Ruby does for, well, the end of the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'watersports'

Sam falls on the floor as soon as the door opens. More like he half crawls to the door and then collapses, not much falling involved, but still.  
  
Ruby swears and drags him inside because getting him to stand up when he’s laying on the doorstep looks impossible, closes the door. When she turns back, he’s managed to figure which way is up and is on his back looking at the ceiling with glassy, unseeing eyes. Ruby assesses the damage; his hands are fucked up as all hell, they’ll probably be useless for days, there’s what looks like a bruise forming on his jaw, but he’s not injured anywhere else. There’s also the obvious fact of him being drunk out of his mind.  
  
“How’d it go at the bar?” she asks not expecting an answer. Sam’s going to kill himself if he goes on like this, or someone else will kill him when he gets drunk enough to pass out completely. Idiot. He makes her feel desperate; whatever she says to make him stop isn’t working.  
  
Sam, who’s been lying motionless on the floor for some time, suddenly rolls over on his side and starts to laugh hysterically. His voice isn’t working right, so he sounds like a demented hyena ghost. It makes Ruby uneasy.  
  
“What is it? What’s so funny?”  
  
“I gotta take a leak,” Sam mumbles and continues to laugh quietly.  
  
Ruby swears again, wants to kick him herself. He’s in no condition to get to the bathroom by himself and she’s not about to sleep in a room that smells like toilet, which is bound to happen if he pees where he’s lying now. Fuck this. She doesn’t get paid enough for this.  
  
“Yeah, ok, hold on, big boy,” she says and pulls at his shoulder, “I’m going to take you to the bathroom.”   
  
Sam’s damn heavy when he’s practically unresponsive, even for someone with demon strength. Ruby half drags half carries him there, stops in front of the toilet bowl. She has to perform some pretty tricky moves, but she manages to arrange them so that Sam’s more or less upright and she’s behind him holding him up with her hands around his waist.  
  
“Here we are, you know what to do,” she says, but Sam’s on the verge of unconsciousness, he fumbles weakly at his fly, but even if he was sober, his hands aren’t working right enough to do this himself.   
  
Ruby doesn’t swear anymore, just sighs and adjusts her hold on him so that she has one hand free. This is just a regular joyride.  
  
She opens his pants easily enough, slides her hand inside and pulls him out. This is slightly fun, because she’s wanted to touch him like this for some time, just not in a situation like this, but she’ll take what she can get. He’s far enough gone that she can get away with a lot of groping.  
  
“Go on, do your thing,” she says when she’s positioned him right. Sam rouses a little more and does let go, clear liquid spilling into the bowl. It’s strange, Ruby can feel it start where she’s holding him and then the sound of Sam pissing goes on for a long time, unnaturally loud in the silence of the room.  
  
Some moments later Sam moans softly through his haze and Ruby can feel his muscles relax even more. Apparently he likes this, seeing as when he’s done and Ruby tries to tuck his dick back into his pants, he gets half hard which is a miracle considering his state.  
  
She doesn’t take advantage of the situation, but this is where she decides she will definitely seduce him when he’s sober.


	21. 21. Of The Heart, Sam/Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Even Sam's ability to let things slide has its limit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> written for kink bingo 'teasing'

Sometimes Sam’s pretty sure he’s going insane. The feeling’s been getting stronger and stronger for the last couple of months.  
  
First there was the soulful staring, it made him increasingly uncomfortable and self-conscious, but that wasn’t anything new or unusual for Sam, because he’d been feeling that way for a long time. It just got stronger every time he fucked up. It wasn’t even remotely unusual for Castiel too, they had given up on making him understand it was very impolite and strange to stare at people. So Sam wrote that off as just something he’d have to learn to ignore.  
  
Then came the personal space and Sam had to agree with Dean, that was disturbing. Though, Castiel seemed to have at least partially learned to not do that to Dean, or anyone else for that matter, but he started doing the whole standing in his personal bubble thing to Sam, who just stepped away carefully and hoped Cas would get a hint soon enough.   
  
He got suspicious though, because really, Cas didn’t do it to anyone else anymore. Yet Sam almost ran into him every other time he turned around. Also, the less clothing he had on, the higher the chance of the angel showing up closer than necessary, unexpectedly.   
  
He tried to shrug that off too, because surely Cas wasn’t doing that on purpose, Sam just had bad luck.  
  
Then came the touching and that was more than Sam’s suspicion could take as accidental.   
  
Castiel brushed against him when going somewhere, pressed closer than necessary when they were stuck in confined spaces and their hands touched almost every time they were passing each other in a room.  
  
It was very much surreal, but Sam started to get more and more certain he was doing it on purpose. He was more or less certain the purpose, whatever it was, wasn’t to turn him on and make him think bad thoughts. Because that was exactly what it accomplished; he was touch starved and jumpy and Castiel was just there all the time wrecking his already shaky calm.  
  
It got to a point he had to just see Castiel to start thinking about the whole string of unexplainable coincidences and sometimes inappropriate touching- Castiel had pressed his body flush against Sam’s to look over his shoulder at a book a couple of days ago. Sam had to think of dead kittens to not get hard.  
  
Then today happened and all of Sam’s certainty was knocked over.  
  
They were sitting in a diner and discussing a case, Cas sitting next to Sam so close their thighs touched, Dean sitting across them and telling his version of what was up with the haunted museum, when Castiel put his hand on Sam’s thigh.  
  
Sam startled and coughed loudly, which was a better alternative than screaming like a girl. He shook his head when Dean asked what was wrong and motioned for Dean to go on. Then Dean got into a long description of the hot librarian he’d talked with earlier today that didn’t really need any input from anyone else and Sam tried inconspicuously to remove Castiel’s hand from him.   
  
That didn’t go over very well, as Cas only slid his palm higher, fingers brushing Sam’s crotch lightly and Sam clutched the edge of the table tightly to keep himself from jumping up.  
  
Sam swallowed and looked at Cas carefully. He was looking at the menu in front of him on the table, but the corners of his lips were curling up in a slow smile.  
  
That-- damn. Sam had been so fucking stupid. It was all, every part of it, on purpose. He had to figure out a way to retaliate, like, yesterday. Or just find time to get it on with an angel, he didn’t care at this point.


	22. 22. Across The Universe, Dean/Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sam is gone, Dean drives around without a purpose or destination. Castiel follows and finds out firsthand what both human grief and human desire feel like.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Written for (LJ)whreflections on the Secret Angels IV exchange at (LJ)deancastiel. This is a response to the prompt nr 3 „Cas is trying to seduce post 5.22 depressed!Dean, which if course makes it harder, along with the fact that he's never exactly tried to full on seduce someone before."

Dean gets in the car and starts it without asking Castiel anything, without inviting him along. Castiel decides he can afford to be rude this once and gets in the car anyway.

It’s a beginning to a new world, to countless things.

Yet when Castiel looks at Dean all he sees in his face is an ending. It would be cruel to leave him to it. Or so he tells himself, because the real truth is, Castiel doesn’t want to leave Dean’s side. He never did before and wants this even less now.

He feels so many things, his new powers twirling inside, calling him to heaven and another pull that’s been directed towards wherever Dean is for a long time now. And underneath that all there’s an ache, a terrible feeling of emptiness that makes Castiel fear he’ll collapse in on himself. He swallows several times until he can breathe easier again. The proximity of Dean lessens it slightly, but he thinks he would crumble into dust were he alone now.

He is sitting in Sam’s place in the Impala because Sam isn’t here. Won’t ever be again, so it might as well be his place now. The thought makes the strange sickness inside pick up a hundred times stronger as if trying to escape out of him. He thinks of how he told Sam his voice was grating. He has to swallow before every breath he takes.

As the miles between them and the cemetery become many, Castiel watches Dean to distract himself. Despite having no injuries, he looks closer to death than anyone Castiel’s ever seen. His skin suddenly looks paper thin and pale, his eyes red and glassy. He looks at the road unmoving, almost unblinking.

Castiel would look into his thoughts, now that he can again, but he remembers Dean didn’t like that, hated when angels did it before. So he refrains, because Castiel wants Dean to not hate him, wants him to be something more alive than the shadow of a man that sits behind the wheel right now. He wants to reach out and touch him, close his hand over a warm shoulder, make sure this is not just a dream.

Castiel wants so many things and they all have something to do with Dean.

It’s been hours since they saved the world and everyone in it, yet what Castiel desires now is the past, for things to be better for Dean. Dean said once that when people really want something, they lie. Castiel doesn’t want to lie to Dean, so he stays silent. He takes Dean’s answering silence as a blessing.

When he looks out the window again, the view has changed and the sun is lower than it was. He’s an archangel and he lost time wondering about the past.

He wonders how Dean operates his vehicle when he seems to not be connected to reality at all. Or maybe he is, maybe the road is all he thinks of now. Maybe that is how his eyes stay dry and he does not need to swallow down a cold sickness every time he inhales.

 

Dean drives all day, stops at a gas station once, and drives on. When the evening of the second day comes and they are still on the road, still running away and Dean hasn’t stopped more than the two times at gas stations today, Castiel starts to worry.

He doesn’t know when was the last time Dean slept, the last time he ate and he knows how fragile humans are.

The car is going slower now and Castiel turns to Dean to try and talk for the first time since… _since_.

Dean’s eyes are falling shut and the car is going closer and closer to the side. Castiel decides to intervene, takes control of the vehicle, slows it down and guides it to the side of the road. He turns it off and Dean doesn’t even wake just slumps further back in his seat, his hands dropping from the wheel.

Castiel watches him in the fading light and sighs. As the late evening paints everything in shades of gray, Dean looks peaceful in his exhausted sleep. Castiel knows better, but the sight puts him a little more at ease. He finally gives in and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and lets the warmth of him seep into the cold empty places of Castiel’s being and calm down some of his worries, some of his regrets.

He occupies himself with guarding Dean’s sleep from nightmares. Half an hour later Dean’s shifting in his sleep ends with him leaning against Castiel’s side. He is then guided down further to rest his head in Castiel’s lap and Castiel carefully covers him with his trench coat.

When the first rays of sun break in through the window of the car and illuminate Dean’s face, Castiel wonders how he could not love a man that asked him if he was God. He leaves to get Dean breakfast soon afterwards.

Only as he stands waiting for his order to be brought to him does he think it could be blasphemous to feel this way. He suspects it’s not a good sign that he doesn’t really care anymore.

 

After sleeping on the side of the road Dean wakes up looking slightly better; at least his attention focuses on things other than the black stretch of the road finally.

"Thank you," are the first words he speaks to Castiel after waking up. It makes him wonder if he says so for the food Castiel’s brought or something else, but he doesn’t ask. Dean talking at all is a good sign.

After he is finished eating, Dean starts the car again, only this time he follows that with a, "coming?" thrown at Castiel. Castiel just nods and gets back in the car and almost smiles up until he notices one of Sam’s candy wrappers on the floor by his feet.

Today is still a better day than the previous one because Dean turns on music. He promptly turns it off, though, but then switches to radio and leaves that on. The songs don’t sound like anything he normally listens to.

 

After that, Dean starts stopping at night to sleep in roadside motels and eating one or two meals a day. Castiel stays with him and tries to be a supporting presence even though he has no experience with how to do so.

Sometime between the first week and the second Castiel starts to wonder how far can one drive without coming upon some form of civilization other than gas stations, motels and dusty road signs. Dean has made avoiding people into an art.

The silence stretches between them just like the road behind them with Dean unable to speak yet and Castiel unwilling.

The call of heaven gets stronger as days go, but so does his wish to stay with Dean. He’s been contemplating this as he watches Dean sleep. Castiel is almost certain his love for Dean isn’t of the nature he thought it was; he wishes more of him than a friend should and constantly wants to be closer to him. He desires Dean now, wants to be his lover.

Of course, he isn’t certain how to go about this, but he’s determined to try. Everything he’s been doing has been for Dean lately and he can barely remember what it was like when he didn’t.

During the second week he gives in to the pull and lets his grace transport him home. Yet when he gets there, he hides his presence from the rest of his kind and goes to speak with Joshua. Castiel has questions that all amount to a single one.

_How do I get Sam Winchester out of hell?_

Unsurprisingly but still disappointingly Joshua can tell him very little, he only assures him that Sam is still alive, that his soul still exists. It isn’t what Castiel came for. He knew this, because if Sam’s soul were to be destroyed Dean would surely know it and Castiel has hope that he would too.

He searches further, yet what he finds doesn’t help him any. Just the same, he has purpose now. Having a purpose is almost the same as existing for an angel and Castiel feels the rush of power this gives him.

 

"Where were you?" is the first thing Dean asks him as he flies back to the motel room. Dean looks somewhat upset and Castiel doesn’t know why; he can’t have awoken more than an hour ago.

"Heaven," is what he replies and Dean’s fists clench and unclench before he speaks again.

"How was it? Home sweet home, right?"

"It was bright, unorganized and somewhat lacking," Castiel says and it’s the truth. He’d never forget heaven’s brilliance as long as he’ll live, but there aren’t many things that could try and keep him there anymore.

"Oh, ok, " is all Dean says. Then he adds, "breakfast?" in a gruff voice and Castiel smiles.

 

They are driving around in circles somewhere where the days are hot and sunny and the ground is often covered in sand. Castiel doesn’t care to keep track where they are, because Dean seems to have no goal other than driving in mind.

Castiel leaves almost every day for a few hours now to search for a way. He doesn’t miss how every time he returns, Dean looks surprised, as if he thought he wouldn’t come back.

During the second week Dean starts talking about whatever crosses his mind again, but he lacks most of his past humor and he has to stop every time he gets on a subject that reminds him of Sam.

Castiel doesn’t mind as he likes to listen to Dean’s voice.

He uses the hot climate as reason to stop wearing his coat and then jacket. Aside from it being more comfortable, he knows people are easier enticed with less clothing on. Sadly Dean doesn’t seem to notice. So Castiel starts to touch him more, stand closer again, because one of the only reasons to disregard personal space were if sexual relations were about to happen. It doesn’t seem to bring the desired results, but Castiel is hopeful.

 

As the third week nears its end Castiel asks what he’s been wondering for some time now.

"Will you drive on forever? Run forever?" It is proof of their friendship that Dean just smiles bitterly and doesn’t try to hit Castiel. He shakes his head before answering.

"Why do you care? Is this too boring for you; gonna beam up home for some crazy angel parties?"

"No, I am staying for as long as you’ll let me, Dean. I just want to know if we will be spending the rest of forever in this car." He makes a point to keep eye contact while saying this. The way Dean expects him to disappear any day now is starting to be insulting. He needs Dean to understand this will not be happening.

"Yeah, well," he says turning back to look at the road, "I wish we could, but that ain’t gonna happen."

Castiel waits for a reason to this, but Dean provides none.

"Why not?" As far as Castiel knows all Dean has left are his wishes. He has no more responsibility towards the world or anyone in it.

"See, I promised," Dean hesitates, swallows before continuing, "I promised Sammy I’d go settle down, have the happy apple pie life and all. So I gotta keep my promise, I’m going to head to Lisa. As soon as this road ends."

Castiel has nothing to say to this. He can’t begrudge Sam wanting to keep his brother safe and happy.

He watches the dust specks on the side window and the endless stretch of desert outside wondering if he would be strong enough now to bend reality so to make this road they are on truly infinite.

 

The twentieth day on the road is silent again and Castiel does not leave for his search, because he wants to have as much time with Dean as he can. Even as the fields outside the window turn to green, it feels as if a million grains of sand are grinding against his grace, trying to consume him.

He chooses to look at Dean instead. After some time Dean starts to shift in discomfort under his gaze, so Castiel looks back at the road. He reaches out and puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder like he did that first night. Dean shifts some more, frowns, but doesn’t shrug his hand off. Castiel closes his eyes after Dean’s frown smoothens out.

The twentieth day is filled with unrest and desperation for Castiel. He allows himself to spend the night sitting on the side of Dean’s bed.

 

They drive to a small town the next day and have lunch at a diner. Castiel doesn’t try to eat, does not like the memory of it. Dean though looks almost home in the place and so Castiel watches as he relaxes in the presence of diner food and friendly waitresses.

As they walk to the nearby hotel, they encounter two crying women that stare at them in distrust. Dean frowns and seems to pay more attention to his surroundings. By the time they reach the hotel, Dean’s collected five different missing person flyers from the walls of different establishments.

He says nothing, but Castiel can see he’s preoccupied with something. This seems like the end of the road Dean was talking about though, so Castiel decides to be more direct in his attempts.

Dean spends the evening looking for something on his laptop. Castiel rolls up the sleeves of his shirt as he’s seen Dean do and waits for a chance. Later, when Dean comes out of the shower clad in his sleeping clothes, he sees it and once again stands closer to him than necessary.

"Dean," he says with no purpose other than to draw attention to himself and tries to step closer. Dean presses his palm to Castiel’s chest to hold him away with surprising speed.

"Whoa, appropriate distance, dude," he says and Castiel can’t tell for sure, but thinks he looks shaken.

Castiel says nothing, but puts his own hand over Dean’s where it’s pressed against his heart. There is definitely something in Dean’s expression, something like fear and confusion and maybe, Castiel hopes that what he sees is lust.

"What are you, teaching me your secret angel handshake?" he asks not looking Castiel in the eyes.

"No." Castiel wonders if it would be ok now for him to put his other hand on Dean’s face, run his fingers through his hair. He knows he wants to do this, but is unsure what the correct way of intimate touching in a situation like this is.

Dean looks at their joined hands for several moments before drawing his hand away hastily.

"You could never pass for human, Cas. You’re too weird," Dean says taking several steps back. Before Castiel can think to follow and try and make his point again, Dean’s on the bed. "I’m going to sleep. Wake me up when you’re less crazy," is all he says before turning off the lights and disappearing under the covers.

Castiel sighs in frustration. He doesn’t know how to do this. Doesn’t even know if he would be successful if he did know.

He doesn’t wait to make sure Dean is asleep before flying off in his search. He is convinced that at least in this other task someone has to know a way for him to succeed.

* * *

  
  
  


Dean wakes up with a start. The dream he just left hadn’t gotten to the graphic details, but the guy on the rack, it was Sam. He rubs his face to chase the last traces of sleep away and gets up. Cas isn’t anywhere in sight. Means he’s not back from his angel business yet. That’s a record for him, being away all night; he never leaves for more than a couple of hours. Maybe that stunt last night was a goodbye or something, but nah, Cas knows better now. Even his people skills are better than that.

Dean brushes his teeth and washes his face without looking in the mirror. He only does that when absolutely necessary now. He slides his hand over his jaw and feels the stubble catch against his skin; tomorrow he’ll have to shave again, he’ll look at himself then.

After he’s cleaned himself up and dressed, Dean takes out his phone, scrolls to Lisa’s number. His thumb hovers above the call button. This is inevitable, the sooner he gets this over with the sooner he can stop thinking about it, stop running from it.

Stupid Sam and his ‘promise me’. Dean wants so much to follow through, wants it more than the happiness that he’s supposed to feel when he does. It’s just, something’s wrong with all of this. Maybe he just needs to drive some more, cool down, get his head back in order. He notices the flyers on the table.

The phone goes back into his pocket and he sits down and turns the laptop on. No way in hell can so many kids go missing just like that in a town this small.

Two hours of looking up town history and whatever he can find about the missing people convince Dean this is definitely a hunt. He goes for late breakfast at the diner and flirts with Nancy the waitress until she tells him all she knows about the disappearances. He almost feels human again until he notices his ghostly reflection on the glass doors when exiting.

It seems a trip to the local library is in the cards. Damn, Dean wishes Sam was here to do the nerdy part. Fuck him for dying. Dean gets the crazy urge to cross two streets to get to the town church and spit on its steps, but then thinks of the locals who’d probably burn him at a stake for it.

Dean’s back in his room, getting his laptop and notes when Cas beams back down. He’s without his coat and his sleeves are rolled up and when the hell did Dean start noticing what people wear? Except that it makes Cas look less silly especially in this weather.

"Back so soon?" he can’t stop himself asking. It’s not like its Cas’ duty to hang around, but Dean’s kind of gotten used to it and he doesn’t want to be left alone now. Fuck, that sounds so chick-flicky. But Cas shouldn’t be hanging out with his angel buddies either, like the bastards didn’t try to kill him all last year.

Anyway, Cas doesn’t answer, just watches Dean pack his things.

"I’m gonna go to the library and research some stuff, want to tag along?" Cas finally looks interested and Dean hopes he’s nerdy enough to want to do all the research for him, but it is not to be.

"You are hunting. You shouldn’t be doing this anymore," is what Cas says and that’s bullshit.

"Yeah, no. The world’s safe, but people are still in trouble so someone’s got to save them." He puts his bag down and turns to Cas.

"You shouldn’t put yourself in danger, Dean. You promised Sam you wouldn’t." Cas looks more worked up about this than he should and fuck him too, Dean can do whatever he wants.

"Yeah, well I don’t see you helping these people while you flit around your clouds, so I guess it’s gotta be me." He hasn’t been this angry at anyone in a long time and it’s so damn irritating that Cas still doesn’t get him after being friends with him for so long. Cas doesn’t look happy either and the air feels charged like a storm is about to break.

"What I do when I am not here with you is important," Cas says taking a step closer and now he looks pissed too. The bathroom light goes out with a crack followed by a small burst of sparks and the sound of glass hitting the floor. Dean just glares at him and Cas stares back for several moments.

Then Cas is suddenly in his space again, puts his hand on Dean’s shoulder and sparks go off in his brain. This is way too close and Dean can’t move because his brain can’t decide between ‘run’ and ‘yes, closer’. When the hell did ‘yes, closer’ become an option anyway?

Cas leans in, Dean can feel his breath on his face and he’s still frozen in place. Then Cas raises his other hand, tries to touch Dean’s face. Hell no. Dean knocks his hands away, steps back.

"How about you don’t try to whammy me and go do your fucking important angel stuff? I’ll try to not get ripped apart while you’re away," Dean says, gets his bag from the floor and leaves the room without looking back. Dammit, he thought they were over this. Son of a bitch.

Dean stays at the library until closing time, mostly because he needs forever to calm down and start real research. He gets his answer by evening, seems like the local people eating bear-like beast is mentioned in half the old local legends. It can also be killed the normal way with normal weapons. It’s just very strong, very fast and with a skin too thick to be penetrated by bullets. Sounds like regular fun.

Given that it appears every thirty to fifty years, Dean wonders how no other hunter’s picked up on it yet. But hey, maybe they did and just lost a fight with it.

 

The night is warm and Dean parks on a road just outside of town near the place where most of the missing people were last seen. After another run back to the hotel he’s got his supplies and weapons and he’s as ready as he’ll ever be. If the pattern keeps the thing should be getting a new meal tonight and he wants to finish it before it does.

After three hours of waiting in the dark Dean’s gotten as alert as it’s physically possible to be. Times like these he really gets why the job’s called hunting. He’s been checking every rustle of dry leaves and managing to stay silent himself successfully for the last hour. So when the beastie does come out of the woods, Dean spots it a mile away and empties his gun between its eyes as soon as it hits tree line.

The thing is the size of a small bear, less defined but just as hairy, and its eyes glow freakishly green. The howl it makes when Dean shoots it sounds disturbingly human, making a cold shiver run down Dean’s spine.

A round of bullets in the head isn’t enough to kill it though, but enough to make it fear for its life, because it turns around and runs back in a forest a little less coordinated than before. Dean swears and follows it in a run.

After following the creature for more than half an hour straight into the woods Dean’s got to admit he’s fucking tired, he can feel sweat running down his back under his clothes. A million branches have slapped him in the face and all he can go by is sound, because he can’t see a thing now that the trees block the stars. The thing doesn’t even try to run in loops or anything, just in a straight line and it’s getting slower or so Dean thinks. The problem’s that Dean’s getting slower too, but there’s no way in hell he’s stopping.

Another minute, it gets strangely silent and Dean actually runs into the thing and falls. He rolls over and gets up without missing a beat, he could do this all day, knows all the falls. The beast, heavily bleeding, turns to Dean and roars again in its screeching human-like voice and attacks. Dean barely jumps out of its way and manages to lodge his hunting knife in the thing’s neck.

The bear creature staggers and comes at Dean again and this time its claws leave four straight scratches down Dean’s calf. It only hurts for a moment and then Dean’s too busy emptying a second round of bullets into the back of its head or what seems to be the back of its head. The creature staggers some more, looks ready to attack again but doesn’t manage. It collapses just a few feet from Dean and dies with one last groan.

Dean can hear his own harsh breaths in the sudden silence. Pain in his leg slowly filters in, but mostly he just feels alive. He kicks the creature just to make sure and then starts looking for fallen branches to make a pyre for it.

It takes forever before the thing is burning and Dean’s arms are on fire too from dragging the thing, but damn, this feels good. Even the two hours it’s probably going to take to get back to the car with his leg aren’t dampening his mood right now. This is damn awesome and Dean thinks the only thing missing from full on happiness is Sam next to him. Dean kind of chokes for a moment, then clears his throat and shakes his head.

Stupid Sam that got himself in hell and made Dean promise to be happy without him. Well, let the little bitch eat it, because this makes Dean happy. All the kids that are not gonna die in that town make Dean happy. Who cares that he’s alone, having someone around isn’t going to change who he is.

When the fire dies down some, Dean starts walking back. It’s as slow as he thought, now that he can finally feel the full pain from the scratches on his leg. Cas is going to be pissed that he got himself injured.

Dean imagines Cas sitting in the hotel room worrying about Dean, but in a serious, expressionless way. He laughs a bit and then realizes he’s not that far off. Cas probably _was_ worried about him earlier today, the idiot. Damn, Sam had something else entirely in mind, but looks like Dean’s both happy and not alone right where he is. Cas has got to count; Cas that didn’t leave him for weeks even with his angel mojo back and that didn’t want Dean in danger. Yeah, Dean’s totally not alone.

He just fucking misses Sam too.

 

The first thing he does when he finally gets back to his room is strip his ruined clothes and take a long hot shower. He then pours alcohol over his scratched up leg and that hurts like a bitch, but he’s had a lot worse. This looks like it won’t even need stitches.

Dean’s exhausted, but he goes back to the bathroom, leaves the door open to get some light, as the lamp in the bathroom got smashed by Cas’ sense of importance. He stands before the mirror and looks at himself for several long minutes.

There are a couple of tiny scratches on his face from the tree branches, one of then sluggishly seeping blood down his temple. He swipes it away. He needs a shave, but he’ll get to that after he’s had some sleep. Other than that he looks like himself. Like nothing’s changed, like half of him isn’t missing. The face looking back at him is just Dean, hair longer than normal and a few scrapes here and there. It’s just him.

He goes to sleep and there’s already light filtering through the window, but he’s too exhausted to care. Dean knows Cas will come back sometime soon, and he’ll have to talk to him then. Now he falls asleep and doesn’t have any nightmares despite Cas not being there to keep them away. Instead he dreams of hunting a werewolf together with Sam.

* * *

  
  
  


Castiel is frustrated. It is a human emotion he has come to understand very well lately. He is most frustrated with Dean. He was unhappy with Dean’s decision to go to the woman named Lisa; Castiel did not want to stop their journey, but he could agree that it would be better for Dean and fulfill a promise. But most importantly, Dean would be safe.

Then it turned out Dean would be hunting again and Castiel is still shaking with a mix of anger and lust after their short conversation. He can’t decide whether to be angry at Dean for putting himself in unnecessary danger in his vulnerable state of grief, or for rejecting and misunderstanding Castiel’s advances. Again.

The only thing he is sure of is that Dean Winchester is frustrating beyond belief.

Disappointingly enough, he has to concede that the answers he seeks are not complete. He still does not know how to find and rescue Sam, only that it can be done. He suspects Michael would know, but he is gone. Castiel may wield as much power now as Michael did, but he was not created with it, thus he lacks the knowledge Michael received upon inception.

"Hello, Castiel," a deep voice behind him speaks. Castiel refuses to turn around. He is the strongest one of his kind now and he will show fear of no one.

"Raphael," he says in greeting. He is not weak anymore, but he still remembers his own death by his brother’s hand. Even being an archangel now with might that rivals Michael and Lucifer, Castiel wishes for Dean to be at his side again when facing Raphael.

"You have been a lot more conspicuous than you would like to think, little brother." The words sound menacing, filled with poison. He must know that Castiel is now stronger than him. Yet Raphael tries to intimidate him.

"It is of no importance. Father has obviously given me permission to come and go as I will," Castiel counters, because none of them can deny only their Father could perform a miracle such as Castiel’s revival.

"Exactly. You have been granted forgiveness by our father and what do you do with it? You choose to spend it on trying to drag the demon-spawn out of hell? Where he landed himself?" Castiel has gone cold all over and wonders for just a moment if angels can take shape of a single word. For of all the words, he would surely be fury. Raphael has now circled him and stands before Castiel. This makes the next move so much easier.

" _Sam_ ," Castiel stresses and flies forward faster than light, presses his blade over Raphael’s heart, "is my _friend_. I _will_ save him, time is the only question. Unless you wish to help me with this, you had better not stand in my way."

As fast as he flew close to his brother, he retreats to his original place and watches as Raphael flees from him.

 

When Castiel meets Dean he has already consumed enough alcohol to want to hold on to things while standing. It is evening and more than a full day has passed since they fought. Castiel does not want to apologize yet he does not want Dean to stay angry at him.

"Hey, Cas!" Dean greets him and he does not look angry at all. He looks good, in fact, even better than he usually does. "Whoa, buddy, are you drunk?" Dean asks incredulously after Castiel sways slightly before sitting down on the bed next to Dean.

"Yes, I believe so."

"What’s the occasion? Do you really have crazy angel parties up there now?" Dean asks and Castiel suspects this is a jest. Still, he answers truthfully.

"I met Raphael today. I do not like him."

"Dude, I don’t like that bastard either. Did he do anything to you, what happened?"

"He questioned my current actions and I threatened his life. He fled." That about sums it up. Castiel is moved by the worry in Dean’s voice when inquiring about this.

"Oh, dude, that is awesome! So you’re drunk because you’re celebrating? Cool, we can celebrate together," Dean says and drinks a beer. Castiel notices several empty ones by the bed.

"What are you celebrating? " Castiel asks and slightly dreads the answer, because he still hasn’t managed to convey his intentions to Dean properly.

"I’m celebrating being happy," Dean answers unexpectedly and Castiel is confused.

"I must have missed something," he concludes and Dean laughs; he has a beautiful laugh.

"Look, I’ll be the first to admit I haven’t exactly been all sunshine and puppies, but you have to know I can’t apologize for that," Dean says seriously now. "I won’t."

"I wouldn’t ask that of you," Castiel tells him. He can hardly throw stones anyway; despite being an archangel, he could hardly function the first days after Sam’s fall.

"Good, Cas. Good. Thanks."

They fall silent for some time and Dean drinks another beer. He looks quite inebriated too, now that Castiel pays it attention. He has also shaven today and Castiel yet again wants to touch his skin, feel it under his hands and taste it.

"So," Dean resumes talking as if the conversation had never stopped, "you’re celebrating kicking Raphael’s ass? How’d that feel?"

"It felt... satisfying. But I had to restrain myself to not do serious damage." Dean grins at him and while it is confusing after the days and weeks of no smiles, it makes Castiel happier too. "I was also drinking because you are frustrating," Castiel adds when he remembers.

"Huh," is all Dean says; now he is the one who looks confused. Castiel’s fingers twitch. He covets and has no wish to hide it.

"You constantly misunderstand me," Castiel elaborates, but it doesn’t seem to make it clearer to Dean. Castiel leans closer, places both his palms on the sides of Dean’s face and presses their lips together. It’s strange how such a small, gentle touch of human bodies can feel so intoxicating.

Dean’s lips are soft against his and Castiel tries to move them, make this a real kiss and it feels as good as he expected. After several moments he moves away but keeps their faces close. Dean is looking at him with an expression of surprise.

"Oh," he says breathlessly, then " _oh_ ," once again and then he presses closer to Castiel himself, kisses him and winds his arms around him. Castiel can’t keep down the sound, moan that Dean elicits with a soft bite to his lip.

This is exactly what Castiel wanted. He would like it more if he wasn’t so dizzy, but this is more than good. Dean slides his tongue inside Castiel’s mouth and Castiel in turn presses him down on the bed, follows for more kisses.

Castiel lets himself clutch at Dean’s hair and is rewarded with a groan and another bite. Apparently in intimate situations it is appropriate to do whatever he wants.

They end up lying on their sides kissing each other for a long time, or so it seems to Castiel. When Dean slows and starts to fall asleep, Castiel holds him closer and chooses to follow him into sleep.

 

The morning brings Castiel much pain. His head feels about to explode and everything is too bright. He tries to burry his face into Dean’s neck, but Dean extracts himself from Castiel’s embrace. It makes him remember how the previous evening went and why he’s asleep in the first place and he tries to hold on to Dean stronger, tries not to let him leave.

"S’ok, sleep it off," Dean whispers and Castiel’s so very grateful that he didn’t say that loudly. He still doesn’t let go of Dean, though, because he can’t let him go, even if he can’t think of why right now.

Suddenly there are lips pressing to his for just a moment and then Dean tries to slide out of the bed and Castiel lets him, because everything is ok. He hears the shower start and lets human sleep drag him under once more.

When Castiel next wakes up, it’s late in the morning. His head feels much better but he’s alone in the bed. He gets up with a groan, notices a glass of water and a couple of pills on the bedside table and smiles. Wherever they stand, Dean can’t be too upset at him, if he’s concerned about Castiel’s wellbeing.

 

He finds Dean outside, doing something to a car that isn’t his. He’s leaning down to look under the hood, his tee-shirt is stuck to his back and in the hot midday sun he looks glorious. There’s a clinking metal sound and Dean curses silently. Castiel steps closer to him, can’t resist the pull of him at all now that he’s already been allowed to touch once.

"Hey, Cas," Dean greets easily when he notices him. His eyes slide down and he smiles when he sees Castiel clad in one of his own shirts. He hadn’t known would it be appropriate, but Dean’s smile is an answer enough. Also, the shirt he wore yesterday and all the days before, really, was dirty and Castiel wanted a change.

"Wanna learn how to treat a lady?" Dean asks and gestures at the unknown albeit rather beautiful car. Castiel hesitates but nods. In the sun, with oil smeared hands Dean looks more carefree than Castiel’s ever seen him.

"This girl belongs to the nice lady that runs the hotel," Dean explains and gestures Castiel to come closer and look under the hood. "Look there, can you tell what’s wrong with this baby?" Castiel can’t, of course, but he’s mesmerized by Dean’s voice and the way sunshine reflects in his eyes making them golden. He’s allowed to not know this and Dean shows him everything anyway.

It doesn’t take more than half an hour to fix the vehicle and by its end Castiel can feel his own shirt sticking to his flesh because of the scorching sun. He’s also sure his face has a permanent smile on to match Dean’s. He knows they both have smiled more than in all the days since Sam’s fall together.

"Hey, can you pass me that rag," Dean asks, leaning to reach some part of the car and Castiel does and then can’t take his eyes off the way muscles in Dean’s arm flex.

Dean finishes whatever it was he was doing, that still makes little sense to Castiel, closes the hood, wipes his hands and throws the rag to the side.

His hand, still visible stains on it, lands on Castiel’s waist and emanates heat that spreads out all through him. He tries to look Dean in the eyes, but the sun shines too bright or maybe it’s Dean and he has to blink. Between one moment and the next Dean is close, not close enough to push them together, but so close that Castiel can feel the heat his body radiates.

"Hey," Dean says, his smile softer but still in place. Castiel doesn’t answer, just leans into Dean’s touch slightly, feels his fingers flex against Castiel’s side.

"So, I frustrate you?" Dean asks and he can see laughter dance in Dean’s eyes.

"Immensely," he replies and dares to place his hand on Dean’s forearm, his thumb sliding over the inside of his elbow and pressing down softly.

"I think," he says and leans so as to whisper next to Castiel’s ear, "I’ll keep on frustrating you." It sounds like another promise, like the only one Castiel wants to hear from Dean. He can’t resist moving just a little, so little and pressing their cheeks together and inhaling Dean’s scent along with the scent of the sun lingering on his skin. He hears Dean’s breath hitch, feels his hand slide from Castiel’s waist to his back and settle there.

"Is that ok?" Dean whispers, "Can I keep, can we--?"

"Yes," he breathes onto Dean’s skin the simple answer to whatever question Dean can’t seem to put into words. Because right now everything is ok and Dean is more brilliant than the sun.

Dean clutches at him tighter and slides his lips along Castiel’s jaw, across his cheek and to his mouth. The kiss is slightly inconvenienced by both of them smiling all through it.

 

Dean has to leave to tell the owner of the car that he’s fixed it; they have lunch afterwards, or Dean has and Castiel watches him eat once again. It’s different from all the other times he’s done it before. There’s a tension to every move Dean makes, every look between them is filled with something that feels like expectation, anticipation.

The only moment Dean’s sight clouds over with something black and unhappy is when they are walking back to the hotel via the long way and pass a church. With the way he looks at it, Castiel’s surprised it continues to stand and does not crumble to the ground. He also has no compassion for his Father who no doubt can hear all the things Dean thinks of him right then.

The moment passes and Castiel takes it upon himself to walk even closer to him, their shoulders and arms brushing on every step the rest of the way. Rays of the sun follow them all the way until they close the doors behind them and are alone.

"I’m going to take that shirt off you," Dean informs him in a voice rougher than normal right before he proceeds to do just that. His fingers then travel down Castiel’s sides lightly until they catch on the waistband of his pants and stay there. Castiel slides his palms up Dean’s chest under his shirt, he tugs at it and Dean lets go, raises his hands to take it off.

They look at each other in silence, Castiel watches his own hands travel from the center of Dean’s chest to his shoulders slowly and Dean slides his palms up and down from Castiel’s hips to his waist repeatedly.

He fits his palm over the handprint he left on Dean’s shoulder once upon a time and presses his fingers into his skin as much as he can without harming him and suddenly they’re moving, Dean’s pulling him closer and kissing him openmouthed. Their chests press together and Dean steps back making Castiel follow until they reach the bed and Dean falls back on it taking Castiel down with him.

They knock into each other awkwardly and Dean laughs; Castiel smiles into his neck, then kisses him there and licks a line up to his jaw making the laugh end with a strangled groan. While Castiel trails kisses and bites over his jaw, Dean slides his hands down Castiel’s back and then between them and he fumbles with their pants and manages to open both rather soon.

Dean moves his hand then, presses to Castiel’s flesh and suddenly there are all these new sensations running like electricity all through his body. A moment later when he can think again Dean’s sliding the rest of his clothes off as far as he can reach and then shifting to remove his own. Castiel kisses him then and slides his hands down from where they have settled on Dean’s hips to help him with the undressing.

It’s awkward and inconvenient for several moments again, but then they press together again, there is so much naked skin touching and they both moan at the same time.

Dean slides one of his hands into Castiel’s hair and the other between them again He takes hold of Castiel’s flesh and Castiel’s hips thrust forward into the touch without conscious thought. This, this is a closeness he craved for and he revels in it, in all the human pleasure he feels and all of Dean that he now has permission to touch, to own.

Castiel moves one hand under Dean, to the small of his back making Dean arch against him, then grasps Dean’s length in the other and copies the way Dean slides his palm over him. Dean’s breath catches and Castiel leans up to lick perspiration off Dean’s temple. He tastes like the sun too.

Dean tugs at his hair and brings their mouths together again and it’s sloppy and perfect and they thrust against each other simultaneously. Their movements become faster and faster, they have to break the kisses to breathe. Castiel presses his fingers into Dean’s back and tries not to leave bruises, but he knows he will anyway.

There are sparks running all over his shin and sparks behind his closed eyes, so he opens them looks down at Dean whose breaths are as sharp as his. Dean looks back at him and leans up to kiss him again with his eyes open and the sparks explode. Dean catches the broken sound Castiel produces as his body shivers and stills.

It’s only another moment and Dean groans and shudders against him too and wetness spills over Castiel’s hand.

They both breathe into each other’s shoulders then and Dean pulls his hand away from himself. It’s hot and they’re sticky with sweat, stuck to each other and when Dean pushes at him to make him move off to the side, Castiel lays his hand over Dean’s heart and feels it calm slowly.

 

Castiel wakes later in the evening still pressed to Dean’s side. He trails his hands over Dean’s skin lightly as not to wake him and watches Dean’s eyelashes move as he dreams. His hand finds the handprint again and he leaves it there.

He closes his eyes and feels. It’s, he can feel all of Dean like this; the way he radiates a pull toward Castiel like a beacon. And then there’s… something else.

Castiel opens his eyes with a start and looks at Dean again, peaceful in his sleep. He leans down to kiss his brow and pulls away, gets up. It takes him no time at all to get dressed.

* * *

  
  
  


Dean wakes up alone. He feels sticky all over and while it was nice at the time, now he just longs for a shower. He curses as he tries to switch the light on in the bathroom and nothing happens.

When he gets out of it there’s still no sign of Cas anywhere, his clothes are gone. Dean wishes to curse, but can’t because it looks like Cas took off wearing one of his shirts again.

And yet, he left. This is definitely more frustrating than whatever Dean might have done before. He guesses no one told Cas you don’t just leave in the night after having awesome sex with someone. He’ll just have to tell him that as soon as the bastard gets back.

He doesn’t, that day. Nor the next.

 

It’s exactly a week later, when Dean next sees him. He feels like such a fucking girl for waiting in the damn town, sleeping in the same bed all that time.

He’s walking out of the room to go get breakfast when suddenly Cas is just there in front of him in one of Dean’s favorite shirts, looking like no time has passed at all.

So obviously, the first thing Dean does is punch him.

"Ow, son of a _bitch_ ," is the first thing he says, because ow. His hand feels as unhappy as him. He tries to shake the pain away and Cas catches his hand in both of his and the pain is suddenly gone. Dean jerks his hand back away from the touch.

"Where the hell were you all this time? I’ve fixed all the damn cars in this town twice. What the fuck was so important you had to leave in the middle of the night?" Fuck, he _is_ the girl in this relationship. Fuck.

"I was otherwise occupied," Cas replies and Dean tries to push at his shoulders because hitting didn’t go over so well. Cas is immovable, the bastard, and it just ends with his hands around Dean’s forearms. He doesn’t let Dean pull them away this time, but Dean keeps pulling because he’s fucking mad. Cas just smiles at him.

"What the hell does that mean anyway?" he mutters and Cas steps closer. Dean pushes at his shoulders again because there’s no way he can disappear for a week and just act like nothing’s wrong.

"Dean," he says in his low, serious voice and, hell, apparently he can because Dean’s just that easy. He fists his hands in Cas’ shirt where he was just pushing him away and pulls instead. Their lips clash together with enough force to hurt and then Dean’s kissing him hard enough to make him not ever want to up and leave for a damn week.

Cas makes a noise and kisses back like he means it after just a minute; he releases Dean’s hand and tangles his own in Dean’s hair to pull him even closer. They’re standing outside in the parking lot and making out and Dean doesn’t fucking care because Cas came back. He puts his hands around Cas, palms pressing into his back and goes on, seeing as Cas doesn’t seem to care about the public location. Now that he’s back they can ditch this town anyway.

"Uh," someone says behind him, "that’s… a surprise." Dean stills because he knows that voice. There is no way, _no way_.

He lets go of Cas and turns around. Cas has to put a hand around him to keep him from falling when he stumbles.

"Sam?" The man before him, that looks just like Sam and sounds like him too, smiles hesitantly. With Sam’s smile.

"I was otherwise occupied," Cas whispers to him from behind and Dean would kiss him again if he wasn’t too busy hugging his brother. He’ll just have to do that later.


	23. 23. Another Kind Of Hell, Lily/Ava

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lily's only plan is to get out of Cold Oaks as soon as possible. It doesn't work well at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> writing for (LJ)sagetan 's wonderful art at reverseBB, art can be found here: http://sagetan.livejournal.com/13635.html

This town’s the worst place Lily’s ever been to. It’s dark, dirty and it has ghosts, demons or whatever. There are no people either and she can’t decide if that’s good or bad. One thing she’s sure of- she isn’t staying here with the handful of people that _are_ here. For one thing, she might touch someone or someone might touch her and she really doesn’t want to go through that again. For another thing, they’re all crazy. _Demons._  
  
Lily waits until everyone’s entered the old, run down building, boards gray-black and disintegrating. At first she lingers just outside the still swaying, half broken door and listens to their steps. She’s quiet and they all split up inside the house, no one notices she’s not with them.  
  
This place gives Lily the creeps, there is no way she’s staying here any longer than necessary and waiting for someone that might or might not be coming to rescue her. It’s nice being around people, actual people that she can see face to face; that are not even scared of her enough to keep a good distance yet. But she can only take so much of this, she wants back home. Lily knows all about unbelievable, she lives it every day, but _demons_? Sure, that black smoke cloud was strange and unlike anything she’d ever seen before, but it wasn’t demons or magic or anything like that.   
  
She went to a fortune teller once last year to get some answers. The lady was adamant she had to see and touch Lily’s palm, that she wouldn’t be hurt. After that Lily got no answers. So all this talk about magic and demon army is some kind of crazy that the tall guy, Sam’s made every one else believe.  
  
She’s thinking more like government experiments, maybe genetic modification or drugs. No magic and no demons. She’s getting out of this place; a couple of hours on foot in the woods sound okay compared to staying here in this dreary grey place. The way the decaying wooden houses look make Lily feel like there is no one else in the world but her and the four people in this house.  
  
She takes a slow step back. No one’s looking for her, she knows, she has time to disappear.  
  
Another step, faster than the first one and the third one and there’s nothing there, she falls, back--  
  
It’s a wrong step, everything’s so very slow, the seconds move like snails. She flails her hands to sides, tries to reach something; draws in a deep breath for a scream she won’t have enough time for anymore. The dark grey spider web covered roof above her is replaced by the light grey overcast sky. It all takes just a couple of seconds and then there is the wooden railing under her palm and she grips it, clings to it with all her strength.  
  
It takes her a full minute to get her breathing back to normal. No one comes looking for her.  
  
Death by falling down a four step stair sounds so unreal with all the other strange things going on right now. Killed by a rotten step doesn’t have the same ring as killed by hell creatures and demons. Maybe there’s something to Sam’s story- it’s certainly more impressive to be abducted by monsters in mysterious circumstances than just people with a sick sense of humor.  
  
She tries to take a step off the stair and a cold gust of wind slams right into her face, so Lily gives up for now, steps back inside the flimsy shelter and sits down on the top step. Only then she notices how her left hand’s wrapped around her locket so hard all her knuckles are white. She relaxes it and reaches inside her coat pocket for a cigarette and her lighter.  
  
It’s a simple metallic one, but she likes it.  
  
The first ribbon of smoke threads inside her mouth and throat, cuts into her nose oppressing all other smells. She exhales a pale cloud and immediately drags in another; she can feel her heart finally settle just like smoke settles inside her lungs. Huh, lung cancer sounds less impressive than hell beasts too, but at least it trumps death by stair.  
  
Thinking up what cause of death would look nicer on her eulogy is unhealthy, but her only other options are running for the woods or joining the others in the house. Lily hasn’t properly spoken to real live people for a long time, this strange abduction is a high point in her social life and isn’t that sad. Even so, she’s still choosing to run, she just needs a minute to finish smoking and get herself back together. Not dying in this abandoned western movie set in the middle of nowhere is her most important goal. What the others do is their own problem.  
  
She inhales the last drag of thick smoke, puts out the cigarette against the treacherous stair and gets up. Two steps out on the street and she exhales and watches a white cloud of smoke and condensations form and float to the right before dispersing in the wind. It must be colder than she thought.  
  
She follows the path of the smoke to the right avoiding the deepest mud in her way; counts steps, twenty of them, before she hears the sound. There’s a trace of laughter that twines all around her and doesn’t come from any discernible direction.  
  
“Who’s there?” she asks low enough so it wouldn’t carry to back inside the house. No one answers her and she turns back to the woods, but a couple of seconds later the laughter repeats louder. Lily looks back and then all around, but no one’s there, just wind carrying dead leaves and some sand. It cuts into her eyes a little and she has to blink away the gathering tears.  
  
As she starts walking again, a sudden blow pushes her forward and down to the ground. The laughter resumes, then stops and as she rolls over on her back a little girl is standing over her. No, not a girl, she has black smudges around her mouth and eyes and her hands have _claws_. She, it, whatever it is smiles and Lily wants to crawl back but can’t move, she’s frozen and cold all over.  
  
The thing moves then, faster than it should be able to and Lily sees it lose shape between standing and straddling her waist. Its cold hands are around Lily’s neck and they squeeze until she can’t breathe and she still can’t seem to move or do anything to protect herself.  
  
Everything grays around the edges sucking the last remnants of color out of the town and finally, finally Lily moves, pushes up with her hands to throw the thing pretending to be a girl off, but she doesn’t have enough strength left. Her hands push against its chest and the thing wavers for a moment with its ink black eyes. Claws stops digging into the sides of her neck for a couple of seconds and Lily draws some air. Then it redoubles the effort and this is it, she’s going die by monster not a murderous stair at least.  
  
Lily hears the wooshing sound before she sees the metal bar force its way through the girl. The bar demolishes its shape again and it releases Lily and flees as black smoke again.  
  
  
  
The ground beneath her back is cold, there’s a stone digging into her side and she can hear her own breath along with someone else’s.  
  
Sam’s standing above her now with a metal bar in his hand, looking down and breathing as heavy as her.   
  
“Hey,” he says and reaches down to help her up. His palm covers her whole shoulder as he pulls her to her feet with no difficulty. He’s closer than anyone’s been to her for a whole year, chasing the cold off with his impressive frame. It’s surreal, everything is wrong and this has to be a dream.  
  
“Hey,” he repeats rubbing his palm up and down her arm and Lily kind of leans into the touch. Just a little. “Are you okay?”  
  
“That was a demon,” Lily says; states the obvious. How in hell can actual real demons be obvious?  
  
“Yeah, uh, like I said. They’re real.” Sam looks kind of apologetic, like it’s his fault that monsters are real. He tries to smile and it just looks like concern. His palm brushes down her hand, past her elbow and Lily steps back abruptly. She half avoids half knocks his hand away and in the midst of it her fingers brush over the top of Sam’s palm.  
  
“Sorry,” he says keeping his hands up as if in surrender. He’s still standing there, still alive. “Sorry, let’s just go back inside.”  
  
Lily nods silently and follows him back to the house where the rest of the people are. After a few steps Sam sways a little and pauses, his hands move as to keep balance. Lily waits, knows what this is, what should happen now. This is what happens to people that try and save her.  
  
Instead Sam just shakes his head like he’s shaking off a daydream and walks on.  
  
“Huh, must be the lack of food catching up with me. Come on, maybe we’ll find something edible. I wouldn’t put my money on it though.”  
  
At the stairs Sam leans down and picks something up from the ground.  
  
“Here,” he offers it to her, “for now you should probably smoke inside if you really have to. It’s safer there.” Lily extends her hand and her lighter drops into her palm.  
  
“Thanks,” she offers and Sam smiles in that awkward way again and opens the creaking door for her. He waits until she’s inside before following this time.  
  
  
  
Inside the place looks unexpectedly good. Well, it’s still a complete mess of a dusty abandoned house, complete with spider webs and clutters of broken down furniture, but it looks more inviting than the dark façade. It seems warmer somehow too, but that must be an illusion, because there are no heat sources and all the windows are smashed.  
  
“Hey, I found Lily,” Sam calls and walks deeper into the house. He turns back before turning a corner. “Look for anything useful. Weapons, things made out of iron, salt. Don’t leave.” He looks at her as if he’s trying to impress how dangerous that would be. As if she doesn’t know already.  
  
“Yes, okay,” she says and Sam walks on after another moment. Lily knows how to lie well, had to learn last year. She gets the feeling Sam knows.  
  
  
  
She walks down the hall to another room, it looks empty at first sight so she enters and looks around. There’s a dresser against one wall that seems as good a place to look as any.  
  
“Hey,” a voice greets her. At the other side of the room the girl, Ava, is sorting through a pile of stuff next to a broken down bed. Her face is covered in shadows and she doesn’t look up.  
  
“Hey. Did you look in the dresser?”  
  
“No,” Ava answers without looking up. “You go ahead.”  
  
“I hate looking without knowing what I’m looking for,” she says out loud. Ava looks strange and Lily supposes it’s different for someone who had a real life out of this nightmare. She’s struck with how insane it is to be happy that she doesn’t have anything important and dear to go back to besides her four walls and computer. It’s sad to be able to appreciate being the way she is.  
  
“Mhm,” is all Ava says. She looks like of them all she’s taking this situation the worst.  
  
“Hey, we’ll get out of here,” Lily tries to reassure her, “you’ll go back home to your fiancée and forget all about this.” She figures Ava can’t be as good at seeing lies as Sam. Anyway, she does think they will get out. At least she will.   
  
“Yeah, sure,” Ava says, “and then what? If you’re right, I’ve been gone for five months. I missed my own wedding.”  
  
Her voice sounds off, like she’s swallowed broken glass and she reaches up to rub at her temple, then resumes slowly sorting through the trash with no discernable pattern. Lily feels sorry for her and she hasn’t felt sorry for anyone but herself in a long time. She’d be jealous any other time but now she just has less to worry about than everyone else.  
  
“Well, being abducted by demos is as good as a reason can get.” This startles a small laugh out of Ava. She looks up finally and Lily stops trying to find anything in the moldy pile of rags at the bottom of the dresser. It’s not likely people kept knives there, even in a town like this.  
  
“What about you?”  
  
“What about me?” she asks to delay answering. This is the part she hates talking or thinking about.  
  
“What are you getting back to?” She looks like she really wants to know for some reason.  
  
“Nothing as important, just work. I just want to get away from this place.” Ava’s face is still shadowed the way she’s crouching down, but Lily can see she’s smiling faintly.  
  
“Yeah. You should.” It’s like she knows. Lily dislikes this more than Sam knowing she was lying and she has no idea why. It’s unsettling and she wants to leave right now.  
  
“Well, there’s nothing here,” she announces, even though she’s been doing nothing but stand there. “I’ll, uh, go, see if I can find something else.  
  
“Okay,” Ava says still smiling.  
  
Lily exits the room and walks further on, silently passes a room where Andy’s rummaging through a counter. He doesn’t notice her. She walks further on trying to keep away from the grime covered walls, but it still feels as if they’re closing in on her.  
  
She can’t hear anyone else and after a couple more doors comes to a room with a door to outside, a backdoor of some kind. No one’s there so she slips out silently. There are nettles growing on both sides of the door, looking out of place so green next to the colorless walls. Or maybe this is exactly the place for a plant that can sting and burn just by touch.  
  
Lily crushes a handful of nettle leaves with her palm in greeting as she passes them on her way to the woods. Yet again, but she hopes for better results this time around. She also hopes she can do better against the demon if she has to.  
  
  
  
She’s gotten all the way to the first line of pine trees when she’s stopped again.  
  
“Lily? What are you doing here?” Jake asks from behind her. She curses silently.  
  
“I’m leaving. You should go back to the others.”  
  
“So should you. This is a bad idea. I know you already got attacked by that thing once,” he tries to reason and she can hear him coming closer.  
  
“Then this is my bad idea. I’m not staying. Just let me go and forget about it. I’ll send help when I get somewhere with a phone.”  
  
“Look, we are _not_ splitting up,” he says it like it’s an order and Lily faces him. No one’s had the right to give her orders for a long time now and he isn’t about to get it either.  
  
“There is no we, I’m leaving and that’s it.” Her voice is raised now. He reaches for her elbow and she takes a step back. He follows.  
  
“No you’re not, we’re--”  
  
“Get your hands off me!”  
  
“Calm down,--” he falls silent. “Did you hear that?”  
  
“Hear what,” she asks and right on cue a faint laughter drifts their way.  
  
“That. Let’s just get back. _Now_ , Lily.” He turns to go back and obviously expects her to follow.  
  
“Oh, go to hell.” Lily turns to go the other way and Jake suddenly grabs her by her hand again and pulls making her turn back. She pushes at his chest as hard as she can, but he’s immovable. Then Lily sees the black smoke swirling right behind him and her hand slips, slides up and she feels skin against her nettle-stung palm.   
  
Jake lets go of her then and staggers back, he looks surprised. She stumbles and falls back, her elbows hit the moss covered ground painfully. Jake stumbles as well, falls on one knee. The smoke is taking form behind him and he has no idea as he struggles back up on his feet and clutches at his chest.  
  
“Lily, you--” he tries to talk and his already deep voice barely sounds like words at all.  
  
That’s when the demon digs its claws into his shoulder. Jake lets out something between a growl and a yell. He tries to get it off, succeeds and throws it against a tree at first, but the demon doesn’t seem to be affected at all and is back in just seconds. Jake fights it like a human and it doesn’t help at all. Two more tries and he stumbles to the ground just a feet from Lily. This time the thing sinks its claws right up to its wrists in his chest.   
  
Blood splashes out of him and covers the ground, some of it splatters on Lily’s coat. She watches him bleed out in just moments. Everything’s red all around and the little black eyed girl looks up at her smiles in a way that shows off her sharp teeth and disintegrates back into a shapeless cloud.  
  
Jake’s eyes are open, staring up at the sky. Lily tries to get the blood off her hand against the moss. She’s had reason to see a lot of dead bodies. Hers were all neater, no blood anywhere. This is, this is not the way people die.  
  
She tries to get up, get away from the body and manages to crawl a couple of feet away before the demon is back.  
  
It slashes its claws at her, but she avoids the first swipe. She’s not going to look like that when she dies.  
  
Both her palms settle on the thing’s neck and she squeezes. Just like it did to her. Lily has no idea how her magical killing power works or why it didn’t work on Sam and then worked so much better on Jake, but she tries, tries, tries.  
  
The thing screeches and swipes at her hand and Lily just squeezes stronger. Tries to kill, kill, kill it. It screeches again and then her fingers close over nothing as it loses form again and flees, hovers in the trees above her head but doesn’t come down again.  
  
She gets up in a rush and it _flinches away_.  
  
“Well that was unexpected.”  
  
Lily startles and turns around to the sound of the voice so fast her ankle twists painfully.  
  
“You’re way more work than I expected you to be,” Ava says. She’s just standing there, looking down at Jake. She doesn’t look surprised or bothered at all.  
  
“What are you talking about?”  
  
“You. You’re so much trouble. This is the second time that you’ve messed up my plans. At least this is a real challenge now.” She looks up at Lily and she’s _smiling_ again.  
  
“You, you did this?”  
  
“Of course I did this.” Ava rolls her eyes like it’s obvious, like Lily should have known this. “Or, my pet demon did. Only one of us gets to leave and I’m all for it being me- so I had to work for it a little to make sure. This is how it works, sister.”  
  
“No, no, no,” Lily starts retreating back, away from Ava and Jake and the demon.  
  
“Oh, yes. You can run now, but there aren’t a lot of places to hide around here that I don’t know about.”  
  
Lily turns around and runs. Hell. She sent Jake to hell and this is hell too.  
  
  
  
The sun sets as Lily sneaks around the woods looking back at every sound. Ava doesn’t follow her. The demon does, but it stays quite a distance away now. She considers making a run for it like she first planned, but every time she wanders deeper into the trees, she can feel more demons. She can _feel_ them now, the way their oily shapeless black moves through the pine trees and it makes her shudder.  
  
In the end Lily chooses another empty house at the opposite end of the town and hides there. Hides. Lily hates to hide, she always has to hide.  
  
The house is devoid of the clutter that filled the first one. It means there are no weapons, but it seems more open, Lily likes it better that way.  
  
Her jacket is covered in blood and dust and she’s too hot in it from all the running, so she sheds it. She sits down on the doorstep and draws a deep breath. She can do this, she just has to wait and figure out what to do now. Easy. She’s good at thinking about things from a distance, removed from everything. This is nothing like that and it should make her nervous, but she just draws another deep breath and digs her lighter and cigarettes out of her coat.  
  
The first inhale is always the best, when she still has the rest of it to look forward to. She turns the lighter around in her hand a couple of times. Sam could be dead too now; Lily liked Sam better than Jake. Maybe that’s why she killed Jake but not Sam.  
  
No, that’s not how it works, she knows it isn’t. That can’t be the way it works, she’s killed the people most important to her; her girlfriend, Lily liked her best. And it took just a single touch.  
  
Maybe it’s because they’re like her.  
  
She exhales white smoke and it’s whiter than it should be again. She looks to the side and sees the demon girl hovering several feet away. It feels wavering, interested and yet like it would like to carve her open if given a chance. Lily blows her next exhale in its direction and watches it part around the smoke and devour it. It’s just a thing, it probably doesn’t even know it’s evil.  
  
This is the most hopeless situation she has ever been in and, boy, she thought her life was bad. _Now_ it is. Despite everything she still wants to get home to her boring isolated life where everyone avoids her like the plague. At least she didn’t feel like the last person in the world then.  
  
Maybe that’s how it’ll go- Ava will kill everyone and Lily will just hide away until the end of the world. Except she has no food and as she extinguishes this one, she’s down to her last couple of cigarettes.  
  
“I have to agree with little Ava, you _are_ a surprise. I never thought you’d make it this far. Gotta say, you didn’t seem the kind to open up to the power and embrace it.”  
  
Lily looks up and there’s a yellow eyed man a few feet from her.  
  
“Who are you?” she wants to draw back, but the man’s not coming closer and she has nowhere to go but inside the house.  
  
“I’m the one running this show. And you are still in the running, congratulations. You probably know by now how this is going to end.” Lily can’t see the demon anymore; it’s not where it was hovering just moments ago.  
  
“Why are you doing this?”  
  
“Easy, because I only need one of you. What you probably don’t want to know is that you’re not my favourite, you weren’t even in the top ten. And now look where we are- you, learning to control yourself.”  
  
“Then let me leave, you don’t want me here, I don’t want to be here, I can just go.” It’s a faint hope, but she really wishes he’d just agree.  
  
“Mmm, nope, not gonna happen sweetheart. I’m just here to give you the rules seeing as you’re still around. So, the rules are: you kill everyone else, you get to live. That’s it. Have fun!” He turns to leave.  
  
“No, wait,--”  
  
Lily startles awake. She’s leaning against the doorway and the demon’s hovering just a couple of feet from her. She gets her hands in front of her as it sways her way and suddenly it’s pushed back away to where it was before she fell asleep.  
  
“O-kay, girl, you just stay away from me.” It feels strange to be talking to a cloud of smoke.  
  
She shivers, sleeping in her clothes has cooled her down considerably. She liberates her shirt from where it’s tangled together with her discarded coat and puts it on. She’s still cold, but the jacket has blood on it and she’s not touching that. She has enough of it on her as it is.  
  
So, battle royale. This can not be real. Lily plays with her locket and watches a spider crawl past her in the faint light. She doesn’t even know what time it is. Fuck, her only plan involves hiding and waiting. It’s an awful plan.  
  
  
  
Another hour or what feels like an hour passes. She’s sitting inside an empty room, trying not to think. She’s got a new plan at least. She’s going to survive this. That’s her plan. Especially if controlling means there’s a way to not kill people. She wants that, wants to be able to touch people and be touched back. So she’ll just survive and think of everything else afterwards.  
  
That’s when she hears a sound. Footsteps, entering the house and coming closer.  
  
“Come out come out wherever you are.” It’s Ava. Lily doesn’t try to run this time, there’s no point. She gets up from the floor when Ava enters the room, blood on her. She’s killed someone else since Lily last saw her. Maybe everyone.   
  
“Hey. Look, I have a new plan,” she starts before Ava can speak. “We can both get out of here and go home. He can’t make us kill each other. So we just don’t. Okay?”  
  
“You are unbelievably optimistic, all things considered, you know that? I couldn’t do that. I mean, you kill people, everyone around you. That must be one sucky life to get back to.” Ava’s voice is sharp, resentful and Lily knows this isn’t going to work.  
  
“So you don’t like my life, you don’t have to. How about you? Your life was pretty good, you could go back to it. No one has to know about what happened here.”  
  
“Yes, well,” Ava gets closer and Lily can see the knife in her hand now, “as Sam helpfully informed me, this little trip has cost me my fiancée. He’s dead, has been ever since I got here. I have nothing to get back to either. This is all I have now and frankly, I’ve come to enjoy it.” She’s just a step away and Lily wonders if she could win in a fight with her.   
  
“So, what, I get to die because your life sucks? Hell no! My life may not be perfect, but it doesn’t mean I want out. No.” That’s not Ava’s choice; it’s no one but Lily’s. Ava’s got no right to do this.  
  
The knife in Ava’s hand vibrates and she looks down with a frown.   
  
“What are you doing?” The knife flies out of her hand and goes sailing over the room. Ava looks at Lily, she looks angry, but not as angry as Lily’s feeling right now.  
  
Lily grabs her hand, spins her around and pushes her against the wall. Ava looks at her and Lily can hear her heartbeat now that they’re touching. That’s new. It stutters and Ava draws a shuddering breath, tries to push at Lily, but she just steps closer and puts her other hand against the side of Ava’s face.  
  
Lily tries to do the same thing she did with the demon, thinks of stopping the heartbeat and then she does. The beating falls silent for a moment and Ava stills. This, having power over someone for a change, Lily can feel it coursing through her like a drug, making her warm again.  
  
Ava’s eyes turn black and she gasps as her heart starts again.  
  
It’s a flash of movement Lily can’t follow then and Ava’s pulling her closer, sliding her hand into her hair. Lily doesn’t resist, pushes at her and their lips connect. It’s a painful kiss that makes Lily taste blood and she can’t tell if it’s hers or Ava’s or both.  
  
Ava pulls at her hair as they’re somewhere between fighting and touching each other. When the pull becomes too painful Lily makes her heart stutter again; it doesn’t stop completely, but Ava stills for a moment again and Lily gets the hand out of her hair. She kisses her until she has to pull back to breathe.   
  
They’re both gasping for air and Lily steps back, lets go of her. Ava’s watching her with black eyes, the same as the demon girl had.  
  
Lily takes another step back, then another and Ava’s smile gets wider. It just makes her look less human.  
  
“Now you’re going to run again? You were just starting to convince me,” she says, her voice full of glee.  
  
Lily walks back until she reaches the door. Ava finally tries to follow and it turns out Lily can keep her away the same way she could the demon. She turns and walks out the house, cold settling back into her slowly. She starts walking faster as she’s outside.  
  
She’s stronger than Ava, she can just get out, get away. She wins.  
  
Half a minute later she’s finally aware of her surroundings enough to hear sounds from nearby, somewhere in front of her. She walks faster, turns a corner and sees Sam. Sam whose alive and human and still around.  
  
“Sam,” she calls his name and half walks half runs to him.  
  
“Lily?” There’s surprise in his voice, he probably thought she was dead too. She reaches him and throws her arms around him, hugs him. He hugs back at first. She can feel the moment he realizes her hands are on him and he’s still alive. He freezes, his hands clench into fists where they’re resting on her back.  
  
“Lily?” The same question and yet it sound so very different. She wonders if her eyes are black too.  
  
Then suddenly he goes slack in her arms and she can’t hold him up anymore. He slides to the ground and Ava’s right there, behind him, the knife in her hand bloody.  
  
“Thanks, that was helpful. Now about you--”  
  
“No!” It’s not even on purpose, at least she doesn’t know it’s what she wants until it’s already done. Ava flies back, all the way until she connects with the building thirty feet behind her making a sickening crack. She slides down, just like Sam moments ago, .and doesn’t get up. Lily takes a step back, looks down at where Sam’s collapsed on the ground, expression of surprise frozen on his face.  
  
She can hear footsteps, someone running and shouting and she has no idea who it could be, can’t think--  
  
It all goes black after that.  
  
  
  
The next thing she sees when she opens her eyes is the yellow eyed man again.  
  
“Like I said, a surprise. But you’ll do.”  
  
This, after all, _is_ the way Lily gets out of Cold Oaks. She still feels like the last person on earth though.


	24. 24. Ellen/Lenore

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> unfinished, un-beta-ed and never posted version of 'bloodplay'

She should have known better than to do come this close to a place full of hunters, but she considered very few of the living her friends and Sam Winchester was one of them, even if he would hesitate to return the sentiment. So when she heard that a couple of hunters were planning to kill him, she couldn’t just let it pass, ignore it.

Still, Lenore might have done things differently, not attacked them in the far corner of the parking lot, for one. She had always thought she’d be smarter than that. While her strength had helped in overpowering both of the men and stabbing one and sinking her teeth in the other’s neck, it didn’t help any now, when she was faced with a woman pointing a gun at her face from close distance.

She was aware her face and hands were covered in blood, and the brown haired lady seemed to know what that meant by the way Lenore could practically see her think. Acting fast, Lenore knocked the gun out of her hand, pulled her arm, spun her around and pinned her against the side of a car, hands behind her back.

“Friends of yours?” she hissed in the small framed woman’s ear. By her own policy, she couldn’t just kill her for interrupting; killing the hunters had already been going too far, she’d been very enraged by their plans.

“What does that matter to you?” the lady asked back in a beautifully rough voice.

“If they were, I’d tell you to keep the hell away from Sam, else you join them.” Pressed against the back of the woman as she was, Lenore felt her freeze all her attempts at struggling completely, then actually relax against her.

“You know him, that why you killed them? They were really planning something?” her voice sounded… relieved? Together with intoxication with the human blood she’d consumed, this whole situation was starting to confuse her.

“Yes, I know him, he saved me once upon a time. This is me returning the favour. Make your friends stop or I’ll stop them all.” The woman leaned back into her even more, turned her head towards her making Lenore’s lips brush over her cheekbone for a fleeting moment.

“Anyone who wishes him harm is no friend of mine. My name’s Ellen,” she said as if it should mean something to her. Lenore tilted her head to look her in the eyes, yes there was an expectant look there. This Ellen seemed to be telling the truth now.

Lenore released her hands and watched as she rubbed her writs, but made no move to attack or escape her presence. Taking a step back, she gave her the room to turn around. Ellen did and then tensed again, her eyes on Lenore’s blood covered mouth.

“Vampire,” Lenore announced as if it wasn’t quite obvious already. Ellen didn’t move and Lenore stepped closer again, leaned in and licked the faint trace of blood she’d left on Ellen’s cheek. The woman drew a shuddering breath and put her palms on Lenore’s shoulders, intended to keep her away.

She was reminded once again why she’d sworn off drinking human blood, especially from men. She could feel burning spiders crawl through her body and demand more blood, screaming to take the body that was in front of her, drink it dry.

They were close enough for them to feel each others breaths, Lenore’s more irregular than Ellen’s. She pressed her hands against the car behind Ellen, it only brought them closer, yet spared the woman bruises and probably broken bones.

Ellen was watching her and Lenore wondered what she saw in there, how much of the struggle between bloodlust and her own mind was visible on her face. It seemed like she would lose, so she leaned closer and whispered “sorry” into the skin of Ellen’s jaw. Her instincts were strong, she was moving, but then they both moved at the same time and it turned into a kiss, their lips pressed together as an accident. They both leaned back after just moments, probably equally startled.

Lenore was definitely happy to be distracted, and then, Ellen licked her lips, cleaned them of the blood Lenore had left there. Oh, now she wanted something entirely different. She kissed Ellen again, no accident this time and yes, she responded right away, the hands on her shoulders now pulling her closer.


	25. 25. commentfic, Dean/ Crowley; Dean/Castiel

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> some commentfic, sadly I don't remember the prompts very well;

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> part one 'marking', Dean/Crowley  
> part two 'wing!fic', Dean/Castiel  
> part three 'Any fandom, any pairing, asexual soulbonds!', Dean/Castiel

**Circular, Dean/Crowley**

  
  
The sex is good, brilliant even, of course. Not that Crowley is ever anything but the best. Not that he ever takes anything but the best.  
  
But afterwards, when Dean sinks into exhausted sleep, come the moments Crowley appreciates the most about sleeping with him.   
  
Dean's stopped leaving right after; stopped as soon as it was clear there was no point, that he'd have to face Crowley the next morning anyway. And the next morning and the next. Crowley might have fucked him into the mattress so hard he just couldn't get up and leave before falling asleep once, just to make a point.   
  
Dean doesn't leave now. He lies in sated peace and lets oblivion take him away while a demon is right next to him.  
  
A couple of minutes later Crowley's trailing his fingers over Dean's skin, tracing patterns of come and sweat all over. Dean doesn't wake, just shifts slightly, huffs in his sleep, when Crowley presses on a ticklish spot or a recent scar.  
  
There is a pattern to it sometimes, signs and words and they all are his name, all mean _mine_. Sometimes there isn't a pattern at all, just lines that curl in a way that looks good on Dean.  
  
Crowley rakes his nails over Dean's thigh barely pressing down at all, looks at the already fading white lines. Imagines a knife in his hand, all kinds of knifes. Imagines how they could have met down in hell, if the timing had been different. He slides his palm up Dean's side smudging all the previous patterns. Imagines cutting into Dean the way only hell allows- so deep and irreversible, yet made invisible with the wave of a hand.  
  
He finds the red-purple mark where he bit Dean earlier tonight, traces its edges with his fingers. Imagines how he wouldn't have to hold back, how he could sink his teeth into skin and flesh and taste what Dean is like on the inside. How there would be blood, so much blood to paint them both red, paint them both the same.  
  
Crowley traces light circles in the sweat on Dean's temple, next to where his short hair is sticking in a pattern of its own. Imagines how he'd carve his name into Dean so deep no one could erase it.  
  
How it would work faster, if he were free to use a knife instead of just words and kisses and touches of human bodies.

\---

 

**Heavenward, Dean/Castiel**

  
  
Dean didn't know, was too scared to even think of noticing anything when he first met Castiel. When Castiel first showed him his wings.  
  
He knows now, feels like he's being burned alive. And yet not damaged at all. The pain from their proximity is dull and makes all his body ache; his blood feels like someone mixed hot sauce in it.  
  
It doesn't make him step back, nothing like this could, not when the reward is Castiel, unclothed and with black, at places shiny wings as far as Dean can see in the faint illumination of the night.  
  
He looks at Dean both unsure and terrifying and Dean steps closer still, grits his teeth when the span of the half see-through wings pushes back at him. Like fucking magnets, only running on pain not magnetism.  
  
Dean's not giving up though, he's more familiar with pain than with anything else in the world. Another step, the last one and he's touching Cas, skin to skin. The way he feels against Dean, all around him makes the boiling blood seem like a lighter to the burning sun that is Cas.  
  
All of Dean's breath seems to be knocked out of him and he tries to inhale, inhale, inhale, but all there is is Cas. And then he's inhaling  _Cas_ and it burns him up from the inside, but not. Burns him until he's kissing Cas's mouth, desperate for more, because it's Cas and he can never have enough.   
  
Thought he could never have at all.  
  
Dean's hands land on the black solid part of the wings. From where he's standing now, he can see the sharp metallic edges, like where there should be feathers there are polished rocks and knives and shards of glass.  
  
He flexes his fingers, feels his skin tear. Drags his hands down the wings and knows his hands are in shreds, because he's intimately acquainted with every single kind hurt.  
  
This is the one he chooses. Gives away to Cas as he breathes in fire and spills his blood over Cas's angel parts. This is a pain Dean  _likes_ .

\---

 

**Dean/Castiel, soulbonds**

 

It doesn’t just happen overnight. Or rather, it does, but the whole thing has been a gradual process, ever since Castiel dragged him out of hell and left a part of himself in Dean in the shape of a human handprint.

They become friends with time and maybe Dean is in love, but he’d never say so, he’s not sure he’d even want that; love has never really worked for him. So he settles on keeping quiet about it. 

Maybe Cas feels something that no one could probably describe as love or possibly any other human emotion, but it’s something strong enough, apparently.

Because there has to be some explanation why one morning they wake up and it’s just there, this thing inside, like an open doorway inside Dean’s mind. It feels like every thought and emotion he has is water, flowing away as soon as he gets them. What he gets in return is a continuous stream of things that could be emotions if rocks and trees and explosions ever had those. Cas only describes the whole thing as a feeling that their souls are attached. How do you  _feel_ souls being attached anyway? 

The search for a cure doesn’t bring any results and Dean just makes Sam stop looking after Cas asks him, if it’s such a bad thing, being that close to him. They avoid each other, though, or Dean avoids Castiel because it is still seriously uncool to have someone read your thoughts, even if you like that someone.

Dean gets the uncomfortable feeling that, while he can make hardly any sense of the strangeness of angel-thoughts, Cas reads his easily enough.

Thus when he next stands too close, comes into Dean’s personal space, he gets the full range of Dean’s foggy sexual fantasies and embarrassingly amorous thoughts that Dean is too startled to hide in time.

Even after all this time spent together, he seems surprised, confused by something he sees in Dean’s mind. Dean thinks he’s getting a hold of this angel-to-human translation finally and what Cas is feeling is puzzlement and- regret? That he doesn’t understand the sentiment, isn’t able to reciprocate.

What he isn’t is shocked or appalled or repulsed, rather regretful he can’t give Dean what he wants. After a long time just standing there and looking at each other, through each other, Dean smiles and throws a hand around Cas’ shoulders in an almost hug.

“Let’s go have a beer, Cas,” he says and, yeah, he’s pretty happy with how things are, now that he really isn’t hiding anything at all, and Castiel knows that, knows everything Dean thinks and feels and is. He smiles faintly too.

“Yes, Dean,” he replies in his low voice and they turn to leave, Dean’s hand still around Cas. Because nonexistent lustful thoughts aside, the feeling Dean gets from him now, the one that feels like it could belong to an exploding star? Is pretty much exactly the same as the one he feels himself and always thought was love.


End file.
